Road to Redemption: The Face of a God
by Ariel D
Summary: Story 3 and a continuation of “The Mask of a Hero.” Can a man who’s lived his life as a heartless assassin see past his own dark heart? Can a paranoid drow mercenary invest himself in a genuine friendship with a man he has seen mostly as a tool?
1. Chapter 1

**Important note: **This is the third part of the _Road to Redemption_ series and follows "Mask of a Hero." This fanfic was originally posted on Lavender Eyes on August 13, 2004, and therefore is unlikely to be revised. I'd rather focus on writing new stories; besides, my later stories build on the events in this one.

This piece is meant to take place after "Empty Joys" and refers to the story "The Third Level" _from Realms of Infamy_, in which we learn that as a child, Entreri was sexually abused. This is a continuation of "Progression of a Killer" and "Mask of a Hero" and begins a few tendays after the events in "Hero." It would be best if you were familiar with the first two stories; however, you can read it as a stand-alone if you allow for the occurrence of positive character development.

**Update, Oct. 2006:** Obviously, this fanfic was written back in 2004, long before the release of RotP. Like I said in the above paragraph, I based my fanfics on "The Third Level," a short story RAS wrote back in 1993. In that story, fourteen year old Entreri remembers being sexually abused by three people, not just his uncle. I will not change this story in light of the revision in RotP, so simply take the difference with a grain of salt.

This story is rated M for implications of sexual abuse, childhood and otherwise. Read at your own risk.

* * *

**The Road to Redemption: The Face of a God**

By Ariel

_Description: A continuation of "The Mask of Hero." Can a man who's lived his life as a heartless assassin see past his own dark heart? Can a paranoid drow mercenary invest himself in a genuine friendship with a man he has seen mostly as a tool? Drama/Action/Angst. _

_Disclaimer: Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, and all other recognizable characters belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. No challenge to the copyright is intended or should be inferred. The following story is just for the amusement of the fans and will never make any profit._

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**Chapter One**

Orangey-yellow fingers of sunlight crept through the wooden slats that covered the tavern windows. Bold in their daily death, the fingers clawed their way across the dull wooden tabletop, leaving stripes on the wrist of the table's single occupant. A shot of whiskey sat cupped in the occupant's hand, but the man absently turned the glass between his long, slender fingers and left it untasted. Through the slats, the man could see a knot of black clouds swelling in the crimson sky; thunder crashed so loudly it vibrated in the man's chest. The sunset would soon be overwhelmed by the fury of a storm. One corner of the man's mouth curved upward ever so briefly—a violent thunderstorm would match the typically dour mood of Artemis Entreri.

Entreri stared into the gloom of the sparsely populated tavern. Evening had not brought a rush to this particular inn. A few younger men slumped over the bar and nursed ales, and one older man sat alone at a table a few feet away. But their forms were nearly lost in the shadows that deepened by the minute. Another brief humorless smile crooked the assassin's lips. If Jarlaxle didn't conclude his meeting with Kimmuriel soon, he'd be drenched in the coming storm.

A reddish-white streak of lightning cracked in the distance, flashing at the edge of Entreri's vision. The few low voices, clink of mugs, and rushing wind should've had an almost relaxing effect, but as usual the assassin's back didn't even touch his chair. He wasn't sure anything could relax him at the moment. Every shadow in the tavern seemed to harbor some memory. The fat lout at the end of the bar, his voice louder than the others, made a garbled catcall at one of the barmaids, and the stench of alcohol filled the air. It seemed too familiar to Artemis Entreri, and it made him see ghosts. For the first time since his youth spent alone in the streets of Calimport, the specters of the past seemed to well up before him, spilling out of the corners and presenting him with images so disturbing that his mind instantly skittered away. It chaffed his soul deep within, irritated a festering wound so raw that trying to touch it, even with the most gentle of mental fingers, made him nauseated.

Disturbing. Yes, that was the only word for it. _Disturbing._ On some inherent, innate level the experiences of his childhood struck him with a sense of wrongness, of . . . immorality. Of . . . unnaturalness, a perversion and profanity so great as to upset the mind of an adult . . . and swallow the soul of a child. And the memories seemed to have crawled their way through the intricate, thick-walled fortress that protected his heart—and his mind—to unsettle him. It was something he'd spent a lifetime trying not to think about. Damn Brok Waylein, he thought viciously, and wished that he could make a short excursion into the nine hells just to torture the psychotic pervert, for Entreri's experiences at Waylein's fortress had caused his childhood nightmares to return after decades spent buried. And it seemed to the tormented assassin that he would not succeed in putting down either the nightmares or the related thoughts they unearthed like he had so many times before.

Another sharp report of thunder rent the too-still air, shaking the building. The fingers of sunlight that reached across the table died, leaving Entreri's wrist doused in shadows. Shadows, the stuff that now filtered through his blood. The assassin sighed. He'd been thinking far, far too much as of late, and just as he knew it would, the exercise in reflection was proving useless—a fool's errand.

The tavern door flew open, and a slim, delicate form strode in confidently. Entreri smirked, instantly matching the grand stride with the elf who owned it. The wind blew the door shut behind Jarlaxle, and the drow surveyed the dim tavern like a king observing his court. Truly, the assassin had never known a soul more self-assured, more charismatic, more commanding than Jarlaxle. All eyes immediately turned to him, and not only because of his race. The elf smiled widely—it seemed genuine—and, upon spotting Entreri in the corner, advanced toward the table as though with great purpose. It was a bit overdramatic, but then again everything about the mercenary was a bit overdramatic. Entreri watched with growing amusement this slender elf with his walking cane, billowing red cape, matching red eye patch, and ridiculously-plumed purple hat—this slender elf who swaggered toward him with such a sense of (admittedly legitimate) poise.

Jarlaxle wasn't surprised to find Entreri skulking at a corner table. He wasn't surprised to see his signature frown, his untouched drink, or his tense body language. What did surprise him, however, was the honest smile that just barely threatened the corners of Entreri's lips as he approached. The faint smile didn't actually register on the man's face, of course, but a ghost of something less dour seemed to brighten the man's eyes for the briefest of moments. Jarlaxle had added yet another thing to his Entreri-objective list: get the man to genuinely, openly smile. Things were not proceeding quickly in that department, however.

"Too bad," the assassin quipped as Jarlaxle sat across from him, "I had hoped you'd get caught in the storm so I could laugh at the drowned rat that came strolling in."

Jarlaxle just grinned. "Well, I do intend to provoke sincere laughter from you someday," he replied, the tease being part of his—or rather, their—new unofficial "more open influence" treaty. "But I'll not do it by having you laugh at me."

"Laughter is laughter."

"Ah, I have so much work left to do on you," the elf lamented with an exaggerated sigh. Entreri snorted. Jarlaxle was hardly being completely open or forthcoming about all his plans and intentions, nor did he assume Entreri expected him to be. But over the last two tendays, Jarlaxle had made sure to telegraph his influence on the assassin quite clearly. As a result, it had become a running joke of sorts between them, and fortunately, no less effective so far. As odd as it felt to the elf to be so obvious, it felt even stranger to realize the subtle shift for the better their friendship had taken . . ..

"Well?" Entreri interrupted Jarlaxle's thoughts. "Was Kimmuriel able to assist us with Socor?"

Jarlaxle found himself fingering the feather on his hat as he considered their attempted pursuit of the too-elusive wizard. The elf had not been amused by his near-death at Marrin Socor's hands—a near-death that Entreri had saved him from. And in addition to attaining revenge, Jarlaxle also faced the lure of adventure and profit. "Yes, well enough. I do believe we have a lead on Socor now. And given the increase his bounty has taken of late . . .."

"It would behoove us to leave immediately, lest some poor fool try to beat us to the kill?" Entreri finished.

Jarlaxle's smile was perfectly sparkling.

Entreri shook his head. "You greedy bastard."

"Not at all," Jarlaxle replied with a grin. "Just pragmatic." He thought for a moment. "Well, perhaps a bit greedy." The assassin smirked, but it was just a bit closer to a smile than a sneer. A bit more time, the mercenary thought.

Neither the human nor the drow noted the way their words evoked a sudden rigidity in the figure a few tables over. The name of Marrin Socor held more than a bounty; it acted almost like a curse.

"Socor," the older man hissed under his breath, and unbeknownst to the mercenaries, the contest was on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Marrin Socor turned away from the window of his inn room and smiled at the young woman on his bed. He imagined that the sunset lighting the room was bathing his small form in a soft red glow, imagined that the crimson rays awoke auburn highlights in his pale brown hair. He fantasized that the shadows created by having his back to the window elongated his otherwise squat facial features. In short, he visualized himself as handsome and dashing.

"Why are you crying, milady?" he asked, tossing his cloak over one shoulder. "Have I not shown you a good time? Was that not why you allowed me to court you these past two tendays?"

The young woman, perhaps seventeen years of age, stared at him with a mixture of fear and hatred. Her soft golden ringlets were now frizzy and matted to her neck; her red nose accentuated her blood-shot eyes. She clutched the bedsheets to her chest. "You . . . hurt me," she whispered, her voice raw.

Socor turned his most charming smile upon her. "That was not my intention. It is only that you inspired such great passion in me."

"I told you . . . to stop!" she gasped, tears streaking down her face.

"But you sang your pretty song for me, did you not?" The wizard smiled at his own metaphor. "You are simply too demure to admit to your own pleasures." He conjured a rose and tossed it lightly at her feet. "Good day, milady. I fear I have overstayed my welcome now." He bowed and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He stopped for just a moment and listened to see if the young woman would collapse into heart-broken sobs. Instead, he heard her pray.

"Please, Tyr, God of all that is Just," she wept, "I know I have sinned, but please, please, send someone to bring that man to justice."

Socor snorted and walked away. Just like broads, he thought, to beg one moment and condemn the next. Why did they play such flirting games if they did not want him?

Still, it was just as well that he left. His obsessive scrying told him that the assassin and drow who had defeated him—twice!—were on his trail again. Damn the bounty hunters! Socor clenched his fists in pure rage. They had humiliated him, interfered with his revenge on Mayor Ligon, destroyed his protective token, and now they were after him again! No matter. He'd hidden from them long enough. He meant to punish them, so if they brought the fight to him, all the better.

He would be better prepared this time. This time he would be perfect.

* * *

Jarlaxle surveyed the crowded tavern where he and Entreri had secured rooms for the night. The companions had traveled almost nonstop for most of the day, heading south toward where Kimmuriel had indicated they should go. The road had been busy, full of pedestrians, horses, and wagons, and now their inn was brimming full of dusty travelers as well. Laughter bounced off the wooden walls and floor as the jostling crowd of men and women vied for food, drink, and conversation. All the merriment, of course, had a negative effect on Jarlaxle's moody partner, who sat sipping a glass of wine.

Jarlaxle swished his wine about his glass with a graceful turn of his wrist. "A nice, full-bodied flavor, don't you agree?"

Entreri grunted.

"A lovely bit of steaming mutton and some fresh-baked bread, and this will be a perfect meal," the elf continued, undaunted.

The assassin's glance was rather neutral, at least.

"And perhaps a touch of flirting with one of the pretty serving girls," Jarlaxle finished with a grin.

Entreri snorted.

"They're not pretty?"

"They're pretty," the assassin said, apparently reluctantly, "but they'd likely be too afraid to climb into bed with a drow."

"But some people like exotic lovers. I'm exotic!"

Entreri's second snort erupted into a laugh. "Indeed. You are quite . . . exotic."

"Besides, I said 'flirt.'"

"That you did." Entreri paused for only a moment. "Lecher."

Jarlaxle's gaze had fallen upon a young man sitting two tables over, and, before replying to Entreri, he paused to consider the furtive demeanor of the youth. The young man, dressed in a beige riding outfit and a royal blue cloak, seemed to stand out in the crowd, which would be unfortunate if he truly desired secrecy. The youth had a distinctive appearance—chin length black hair, overly-large brown eyes, a small stature, and a brownish complexion almost as dark as Entreri's, except a touch more sallow. Even more interesting was the symbol stitched upon the breast of the young man's cape: a gloved hand holding a coin depicting a two-faced head.

Jarlaxle filed the mental note away and began to reply to Entreri's jibe, but his attention was diverted by the approach of a small boy, approximately five years old by the look of him. The child stopped right in front of Jarlaxle and smiled at him shyly. Green eyes sparkled with curiosity from under a mop of reddish-blonde hair. "Mister, are you an elf?" he asked in a soft, high-pitched voice.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Why, yes I am, young sir."

The child's smile widened, but he ducked his head, turning halfway away from Jarlaxle in a bashful gesture. After a moment, the boy pivoted back and looked up at the drow again. "But you are all black. Why are you all black?"

Entreri watched the exchange with the oddest expression, but said nothing. The drow could feel the grin nearly split his face. The child was so . . . cute. "That was simply the way I was made."

The child pressed his tiny fist against his lips, partially hiding his smile. "Why do you have so many necklaces?"

Entreri laughed.

"Because I like gold."

"Why do you have pointed ears?" The child had edged closer, but he stared at his feet as he asked the question.

"So I can hear better." So inquisitive! And unafraid! Jarlaxle had the oddest urge to pat the boy on the head, but he didn't dare touch the child.

The child turned one foot, then the other, to the side before straightening them. He glanced up at Jarlaxle and wiped his bangs out of his eyes with the back of his small fist. "Can I touch them?"

Jarlaxle chuckled, but he noticed that the look on Entreri's face had turned to one of near pain. It seemed an odd reaction to such a sweet child. "Well . . .." The drow wasn't sure what to do, especially if the parents were nearby. They might get the wrong idea.

The decision was delivered from him just as he suspected it would be. A man stomped through the crowd and snapped his fingers at the child. "Stop pesterin' them, boy!" Then his gaze fell upon the drow. "I said get away from them, now!"

Just for a moment, Jarlaxle felt a stab of unfamiliar pain, but he reflexively brushed it away.

The boy squeaked in fright and skittered toward his father. "Fool!" The man yelled, and the boy cowered. "Don't ye ever speak to a dark elf ever again."

The man's yelling didn't overpower the din of noise in the tavern, but it did draw the attention of the closest tables. Noticing this, the man grew even angrier and grabbed the child by the arm, yanking him forward. He let go a moment too soon, though, and the boy, knocked off balance, fell to the floor and burst into tears.

"Stop yer cryin'!" the man yelled. "Are ye a boy or a girl?" He reached down and snatched the child by the collar, jerking him to his feet. "I don't raise ye to be some weak prissy snot! Now buck up, or I'll give ye somethin' real to cry 'bout."

Jarlaxle watched Entreri's eyes narrow dangerously at the scene. His sword hand twitched, and the flash of anger that lit his dark grey eyes was so profound Jarlaxle instinctively sat back in his chair. _Will he act?_ the elf wondered. He watched Entreri smolder. _Why did this spark his anger and interest when so many other things do not?_ the drow thought, and he found himself genuinely hoping the assassin would act, although he hoped the man would retain enough of a cool head to not kill the father in front of his son.

The father was dragging the boy out of the inn, and Jarlaxle realized that the young man sitting a few tables over was also watching the man with ire. The youth stood and, with a stride that bespoke great determination, followed them out. Entreri apparently noticed this as well. He stared after them for a moment, seeming caught in indecision. "Hm," he said, and stood with one fluid motion that had him four steps away from the table before his chair scooted to a halt.

Jarlaxle hid his smile and remained seated. Several minutes and muffled yelling later, Entreri and the young man entered the inn together. Talking! Jarlaxle chuckled to himself.

"Do you make it a habit to barge into other people's business?" Entreri was asking, seemingly with sincere interest and with little sarcasm.

"All the time," the youth replied with a smile. "There are no injustices too small to set aright. And I'm not sure I consider such abuse a small matter."

"What you said was quite ingenious," the assassin commented with just a touch of approval.

Jarlaxle's eyebrows nearly climbed off his forehead in surprise.

"And I meant it, no matter what it might cost me," the young man said, suddenly grim.

Entreri sneered in a way that could actually be described as appreciative. The two had reached Jarlaxle, who stood and bowed to the young man. "Greetings, good sir. Would you join us?"

The youth considered Jarlaxle carefully for several moments. "Thank you, I will."

Jarlaxle gestured to a chair, and the young man sat across from him. Entreri gave Jarlaxle a slight scowl, then took his seat. "I am Jarlaxle," the elf said, "and this is Artemis Entreri." He titled his head to the now thoroughly scowling assassin. "And you are?"

"Tai Vatoshie," the young man replied. "Priest of Hoar."

"Priest of Whore?" Jarlaxle echoed with a small, mischievous smile. "I do not believe I have heard of this goddess."

Tai grinned, and Jarlaxle realized he wasn't much beyond boyhood. Maybe fifteen or sixteen years of age. "God. Hoar is the god of poetic justice. He's an ancient Untheric deity and is also known as Assuran."

"Poetic justice?" Entreri asked incredulously. Jarlaxle could tell that the assassin's opinion of Tai had been revised downward at the news of his being a priest.

"Yes. We are traveling priests who seek revenge and retribution for those unable to attain it. We have very few temples—just a knack for getting under the skin of the church of Tyr." Tai laughed.

"Indeed?" Entreri seemed suddenly interested again.

"Oh, yes. We uphold the true spirit of the law." Tai's eyes flashed with anger. "We don't cling to the letter of the law blindly like the Tyrants."

Entreri smirked at the use of the slur. "'Tyrants.' Yes, that's a good name for them."

Jarlaxle watched the exchange with growing fascination. His theory that Entreri had had a relative or close family friend who was a priest of Tyr was gaining momentum.

Tai smiled. "Actually, I'm on a mission of vengeance at the moment."

"Against whom?" Jarlaxle asked, mostly to sound out the youth. He was terribly naïve to be so open!

"Oh, I doubt you've ever heard of him." Tai leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "But you may have—he's got quite a bad reputation now. Marrin Socor."

Entreri eased forward at this proclamation. "Oh?"

Tai had simultaneously leaned backward. "Uh . . . yes. He's wanted for several murders, among other things. Why? Have you heard of him?" He looked to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle's first impulse, apparently like Entreri's, was to consider this too much of a coincidence, but since they were hot on Socor's trail, perhaps it was not. The mercenaries knew they weren't the only ones out to capture or kill Marrin Socor. "We are tracking him as well."

Tai bit his lip for a moment. "Bounty hunters?"

Jarlaxle nodded. "Ones who have already fought Socor twice before, I might add."

Tai seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Well, I have no interest in money, so I am no threat to your endeavor." A flash of anger crossed his face. "Actually, I truly don't care who kills him as long as I see him die."

"And this death meets the requirement for poetic justice?" the drow asked lightly, studying the young man's face, getting a gauge of his character.

"He killed my cousin," Tai bit out, brown eyes glittering with rage.

Jarlaxle nodded, having completed his initial assessment. "Well, if you do not care about the money, then you are free to join us in our hunt."

"He is?" Entreri's voice carried a warning note.

"Why not? A little divine help cannot hurt us, now can it?"

Tai grinned—it really was disarming on such a boyish face. "The Doombringer smiles on all those who punish the unjust."

Entreri groaned, and Jarlaxle laughed. "Well, the Doombringer, Master Entreri, and I should get along well enough."

"Then you do not . . ." Tai frowned momentarily. "You do not follow . . . Lolth?"

Jarlaxle waved away Tai's concern with one delicate hand. "I have never slaved for the Spider Queen. I have a proper drow's love of chaos, I suppose, but servitude to the Lady of Chaos does not truly gain one anything. Especially if one is male."

Now Entreri and Tai were both looking at Jarlaxle with interest.

"But let us speak of more delightful things, such as the many beautiful women present tonight." Jarlaxle gestured to the nearest barmaid, a young woman with brown curls and a wide smile. "Surely two such fine-looking men as yourselves should spend a relaxing night prior to such a tedious hunt?"

Tai blushed deep red, the heat collecting high upon his cheekbones, and Entreri shook his head and sighed.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "And perhaps one debonair elf should also?" he suggested, the mirth twinkling in his eyes.

"You lech," Entreri said, his exasperation only half-feigned.

"Truly! How does the human race manage to propagate itself with such shy men to represent it?" Jarlaxle teased them.

Tai's blush was now working its way down his neck as well. "Then do you agree with your partner?" he asked Entreri, obviously trying to change the subject. "Do you accept me as a temporary traveling companion?"

The assassin sighed again, this time more profoundly. "I suppose I can tolerate anything that helps lead to the fall of Mouse Man," he replied, for Socor had been reduced to the unflattering nickname due to his small, squinty hazel eyes and tiny protruding ears. That, and the fact Entreri had nothing kind to say about anyone who so utterly failed to gain even a fraction of his respect.

Jarlaxle smiled, reflecting that traveling with Entreri was indeed one of the more enjoyable experiences of his long life despite the man's sour moods. When he returned to the Underdark, he'd miss the man's endless quips, even his sarcastic humor.

Jarlaxle's thoughts brought him up short as he realized he really didn't want to return to Menzoberranzan—but what would that mean about him and his life if he did not?

And was it something he could accept?

* * *

_A/N: I'd like to thank darkhelmetj for sharing with us her story, "A Good Thing," which provided the inspiration for the child in this scene. DH, it's priceless!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Hector Macatos hated criminals with a righteous hate. He hated the evil things they did, he hated the way they disrespected the laws they broke. He hated it when they went free, when they didn't get the punishment they deserved, and when they committed the same crime again and again. Hector Macatos hated a great deal.

At fifty-seven years of age, Hector was a plump and balding man: his six-foot stature did not save him from the hearty padding that encircled his waist in a distinct roll, and his raven black hair, now thin on top, had several shots of silver running through it. His naturally brown skin had recently begun to develop its first potato spots, but his brown eyes shone with an intelligence and cleverness widely respected by those who knew him. However, Hector rarely acknowledged such deference, for he was accustomed to it: he was a priest of Tyr.

Hector Macatos preferred to remain in the city, hovering in the temple or near the courts, carrying out his priestly duty. He enjoyed advising others, he loved engaging in the law-making process when allowed. But occasionally serving a god means doing things one does not like. Hector hated to travel, and he hated personally running down criminals. But the case of Marrin Socor had become so severe that several priests and paladins of Tyr had been sent to track down the wizard and bring him to justice. Hector actually volunteered for the job, for Socor had made one further mistake in Hector's eyes: he'd impregnated the cleric's fourteen-year-old niece.

The noon sun had broken through the morning's lingering clouds with such punishing brightness and heat that Hector thought it could be holy praise to Tyr. The heat didn't slow him any, however. Hector had been traveling in it without complaint for two tendays now, and after a quick lunch in a bustling country inn, he resumed his mission, urging his grey-mottled mare into a canter and holding back a sigh at the way the dust seemed to gravitate toward his new traveling clothes.

But the priest could suffer the mess, for Socor—whose list of crimes against both young women and others seemed to lengthen each day—would soon be brought to justice. Hector's prayers had been answered; Tyr had provided him with a clear lead on Socor's whereabouts. The priest now followed some bounty hunters. And Tyr forbid that any such filth ever be allowed to reach the criminal first, especially when he knew one of the bounty hunters to be the infamous assassin Artemis Entreri. No, no one must ever be allowed to impede the righteousness of divine justice.

No one.

* * *

Tai Vatoshie tightened his arms around Jarlaxle's waist as the crazy drow led their horse to jump a fallen tree trunk. Tai had never been much for horseback riding; he knew how, but preferred to walk. He just couldn't entirely trust his safety with an animal three times his size, and besides, the more nervous the beast, the more nervous the priest. Upon learning this, Jarlaxle had smiled impishly, and now for the last thirty minutes, the insane elf had apparently been trying to scare Tai on purpose. 

"I'm sufficiently frightened now," Tai said to the laughing drow, "you can stop." He really didn't know much about drow, but there were rumors that they were cruel and evil. Maybe he should've listened to them more carefully.

Jarlaxle glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not trying to scare you, good priest, only show you the joy that horseback riding truly is! These are magnificent animals that you have here on the surface; you should do your best to enjoy them!"

There was a snicker to their side, and Tai glanced over at Entreri as the man pulled his horse up beside Jarlaxle's. "You'll have to be careful," he said to the young priest, "Jarlaxle has an obsessive need to fix anything that proves inefficient in his eyes, including people. It's the mark of a born leader, I suppose—well, a very annoying one, I should say."

Jarlaxle laughed again. "Not at all! It is only that one should do one's best to live life with as few limitations as possible."

Entreri shook his head, and when Jarlaxle looked away to survey the forest around them, Tai could see the very faintest of smiles hovering around the man's mouth. Still, it seemed to Tai that the smile would never actually manifest, and he wondered what had hurt this man to leave him so obviously jaded.

Indeed, it was not lost upon the young priest, despite his admitted tendency toward naivety, that these two bounty hunters were both accomplished and dangerous mercenaries. Part of him felt quite the fool for agreeing to travel with them, especially since one was drow, but on the other hand, he'd likely get into more trouble traveling separately since they knew he was after the same prey. Not to mention that Tai truly felt that Hoar was guiding him to join the bounty hunters, so it must be that justice would be best served this way. Besides, Entreri's outraged reaction to the abuse of the child the other day had been promising, although Tai did not know what to make of the drow at all. Based on what he'd seen over the last several days, Tai thought that Jarlaxle sometimes seemed twice as dangerous as the glowering Entreri, but other times just seemed free-spirited. It was as if the drow had two personalities, and as long as you didn't threaten him, you only had to deal with the nice one.

Jarlaxle was looking back at Entreri again. "What? No snide response?"

Entreri snorted. "Why bother? Still, you shouldn't scare the poor boy so. He'll think you're trying to kill him."

Tai started to bristle at being called a "boy" when he was fully sixteen years old _and_ already a priest—especially when he was called such by someone who looked to be only in his mid-thirties. But Tai reminded himself that twenty years of age difference might make him seem a boy to the man. Besides, appearances could be deceiving; the man could be older than he looked. Still, it seemed unlikely.

"Well, you could allow the boy to ride with you for a while," Jarlaxle suggested slyly.

Again with the "boy," but Tai didn't even want to guess how old the drow might be by comparison. The elf had a real air of experience about him, though; Tai couldn't help thinking he would have to be a few centuries old. In that case, Tai really would seem a boy to him. Suddenly, strangely, all of the feelings of maturity and accomplishment Tai had gained from his intensive clerical training seemed to flee, leaving him feeling young and inexperienced indeed. He sighed. Well, modesty _was_ a virtue.

"No, I wouldn't steal your pleasure from you," Entreri told the elf. "I wouldn't want to you pout for the rest of the morning."

"I do not pout!" the drow protested with mock anger. Tai laughed, for the flamboyant elf had worked a bit of poutiness into his voice even as he spoke.

"Sure you don't," Entreri replied, and if a sneer could ever be described as teasing, then Tai had seen his first teasing sneer.

_How does he do that?_ Tai wondered with no small curiosity. _I've never known anyone who could express something positive in such a negative way._ But of more interest was the way Jarlaxle had suggested he and Entreri ride together. He'd suggested such a thing more than once over the past few days. It was almost as though he were trying to get them to bond or befriend each other on purpose. But why?

It was obvious to Tai that he'd walked into the middle of something very complex and multilayered. These two seemed to be playing some kind of unspoken game with each other, but playing it where the other could still see and understand it despite its being unspoken. It was very odd, and it worried Tai just a bit. Were they really friends or just allies trying to use each other? Tai started to worry, but he brought himself up short. He'd only been around them for about a tenday—he was jumping to conclusions.

Jarlaxle went rigid suddenly, and it startled Tai to the point he almost dropped his arms from around the drow's waist. Entreri, too, was looking at the bushes and trees on either side of the road. Tai followed their line of sight but didn't see anything. Still, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. Spooked, Tai gathered himself to cast the few spells he'd prepared the night before.

Jarlaxle spoke to Entreri in a language Tai had never heard, and the man nodded and dismounted. "I hope you can fight," Jarlaxle then whispered to Tai, "because we're surrounded by about thirty orcs."

Tai paled. Orcs. He hated orcs. And thirty of them! What terrible odds! He'd never had to fight more than two people at once and had never been ambushed in his life. He wondered if they'd all three die today. "I prepared several spells last night in case of an emergency," he answered calmly, although in truth his heart pounded in his chest.

Jarlaxle nodded, and Tai dismounted quickly but clumsily. Jarlaxle landed gracefully beside him just as the first spear arched toward them. With a chorus of roars, the orcs descended upon the travelers, but Tai was already deeply in prayer, asking for a blessing upon himself and his companions.

Confident in his moody but just deity, Tai drew his matching daggers—the only weapons he carried—and met the first orc's attack. He crossed the daggers before him, stopping the downswing of the orc's staff. His wrists and arms stung with the impact, but he ignored it and pivoted to the side, disengaging the weapons and turning nimbly. Before the orc could figure out what was happening, Tai stabbed him in the back.

To his right, Tai could see Jarlaxle issuing a stream of endless daggers that cut down his opponents before they could get close to him. Entreri had drawn a truly terrifying-looking sword and a beautiful dagger, and with a skill Tai had never seen, slashed through his attackers. Tai realized then that they were not in as much danger as he'd first thought. He met his next two opponents with more assurance.

Deciding to lower the odds to his liking, Tai cast a fear spell on the axe-wielding orc approaching from his left, sending it running away. The second one, however, swung at him with a huge club which Tai simply had to dodge. Scared but determined, the young priest feinted a second dodge to the left but then dived right instead, tumbling into a headlong roll that carried him past the orc. Tai gained his feet instantly and jumped back in, stabbing the creature in the back. However, the orc had started to turn toward him, and the dagger didn't delve as deeply as Tai intended. Panicking, the priest did the first thing he thought of: he cast a second fear spell. It seemed appropriate somehow. The wounded orc howled and started running away, but Jarlaxle noticed it from his position and cut it down with a hail of daggers before it could escape.

For a moment, Tai thought he could breathe easier, but the reality of the situation crashed back in as he saw yet another orc turn his way. Furthermore, Entreri, in pursuit of several orcs, crashed through the bushes to Tai's left, startling him. The entire scene confused the young man for a moment: several walls of ash hung in the air, and the drow was now levitating above a group of orcs and raining daggers upon them. This was the chaos of battle? Tai didn't like it. He hadn't trained as hard as he had to fight in a battle; he'd done it to administer justice and vengeance. No, he didn't like this at all. But there was no time for his childish sentiments, for the next orc was bearing down on him. He turned and ran, pretending that he was trying to escape. The fear he didn't have to fake.

Once in the trees, Tai weaved in and out of several closely grouped trees, confusing and slowing the orc behind him. Hiding behind one particularly large trunk, the priest waited until the orc ran past him, then threw one of his daggers right into the creature's spine. It fell, paralyzed, with a shriek. Tai sprinted forward, collected his dagger, and sneaked back toward the main fighting.

Entreri was nowhere to be seen, although Tai could hear heavy fighting to his left. Jarlaxle was now levitating in a spot about ten feet away from where he'd been previously, and half the orcs he'd been fighting now lay dead. Tai shook his head in amazement at the sight of the smiling drow who so obviously enjoyed the fight. Fortunately, he was also very good at it. Orcs seemed to be dropping by the second. Tai took a deep breath and started forward to help.

However, before Tai had taken more than two steps, a mixed look of both surprise and horror crossed Jarlaxle's face, and he suddenly dropped out of the air. Tai instinctively shouted and ran forward, realizing that the drow's levitation spell had failed somehow. His shout turned a few of the orcs toward him, taking some of the pressure off of the drow, who quickly pulled two daggers from his belt and, with a word, magically elongated them into swords. Still, Tai could tell Jarlaxle had been rattled, and he wondered what it all meant.

* * *

Twenty feet away, Entreri relieved yet another orc of its head and turned, meeting the next charge. As suspicious-natured as he was, he had to wonder if this band of orcs had happened upon them on its own, or if a certain rodent-like wizard had played a magical hand in it. For now, however, it didn't matter. Entreri dodged the orc's clumsy axe-swings and countered with a slash that nearly split the creature in half. He grinned wickedly. Yes, a good fight was all he needed to clear the shadows from his mind and lighten his mood a bit. There was no room for past torments in the middle of a dangerous fight; there was only the thrill of the action, the weight of the sword and dagger in his hands, the song of the steel as it sliced the air. For once not bothering with stealth, Entreri crashed through another thicket of bushes in pursuit of the final two orcs he'd been fighting.

The clearing, however, held several surprises for him: five orc corpses lay scattered on the ground, and a weaponless man stood among them, seeming quite calm and composed.

Entreri slid to a halt and found himself looking up at a fellow Calishite. In fact, he found himself gazing upon someone who, had he been the correct age, would have looked much like his own father: overweight, dirty, and leering. All that was needed to complete the picture was the stench of alcohol and a drunken sneer. But most disturbing of all, the man wore a thin silver chain with a matching silver pendant: balanced scales resting on a warhammer. The symbol of Tyr. This man was a priest of Tyr.

There were several things Entreri did not like. He didn't like drunks, he didn't like gluttons, and he especially didn't like gluttonous, drunken slobs. He didn't like men who betrayed their children, and he definitely didn't like rapists. But Entreri reserved a special, dark corner of his heart for priests. The sound that issued from his throat was something very much like a growl. "Tyrist."

"And you, I've learned, are Artemis Entreri, the vilest assassin in all of Calimshan, and possibly in all of Faerun." The man smiled a cold and sinister smile. "This shall be the most profitable venture I have ever made, I suppose, to bring to justice both Marrin Socor and Artemis Entreri on the same trip. Prepare to face your most-deserving judgment, evil assassin."

Entreri raised his weapons, instantly deciding that this man had to die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

An unhappy Jarlaxle was double-checking the surrounding area, ensuring that all their enemies were either dead or fleeing, when he heard an explosion that sounded very much like a powerful spell. Knowing orcs likely weren't responsible for such magic, he headed in the direction of the sound, carefully setting aside for the moment his concern over his own failed spell. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he found Entreri facing off with, of all things, a fellow Calishite. Entreri's gauntlet was smoking, apparently from having thrown back a spell, and a tree behind the other man had been reduced to splinters. Both had apparently come in close contact with the energy: Entreri's right forearm was burnt, and the other man's left shoulder was burnt.

Jarlaxle whipped out one of his many wands and pointed it at the dangerous magic-user. "I suggest you remain very still and do not speak."

Tai ran up and halted by Jarlaxle. He looked the newcomer over and frowned. "Tyrist."

"Tyrist?" Jarlaxle echoed, and saw from the corner of his vision Entreri raise his dagger and advance a step toward the man.

"A cleric of Tyr," Tai confirmed. "And a powerful one," he continued in a whisper, "for the damage suggests a flame strike."

The cleric had diverted his attention to Tai and seemed to hone in on the symbol stitched upon the breast of his cloak. "A priest of Hoar? You, a mere boy?"

Tai made a face, and Jarlaxle decided the young man didn't like to be referred to as a boy.

The cleric had turned a frown back upon Entreri. "I should have known that a priest traveling with the likes of you would be a priest of Hoar." Disgust blackened his tone. "And I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose, at seeing a drow with you, either."

"You speak as though you know me," Entreri said, and Jarlaxle could hear in his voice, and see in his face, every ounce of his hatred for priests.

"I have only lived out here for ten years. I know well the exploits of the assassin Artemis Entreri." The man flashed a look at Jarlaxle, who promptly stepped forward, wand still aimed at the man's chest. The cleric returned his gaze to Entreri. "You will not escape justice this time."

Entreri's eyes narrowed into glittering slits, and Jarlaxle fancied that he could already smell the cleric's spilt blood. But Tai was one step ahead of everyone.

"Who gave you the right to be the judge, jury, and executioner of this man?" Tai asked, and it seemed to Jarlaxle that the cleric was suddenly a full two inches taller. "If you left your homeland ten years ago, I can't imagine you have any current information about him. Perhaps he is no longer the man you knew of; perhaps it would be the greater crime to kill him now."

The priest of Tyr and Entreri were both staring at Tai with incredulity, but Jarlaxle could tell that while the priest's incredulity bordered on revulsion, Entreri's was tinged with . . . respect? Perhaps the young cleric could charm Entreri after all.

"The church of Tyr gives me the right," the man said. "And do not be a fool. People such as Artemis Entreri do not change. Such monsters are evil without limit, a blight upon humanity that must be scourged at all costs."

Tai, his eyes narrowing, tilted up his chin and sniffed at the man. "The power to change is in all people, Master . . . ?"

"Macatos. Hector Macatos."

"Master Macatos. And the power to destroy rests not only in evil people."

Jarlaxle sensed a wisdom about the boy that belied his years. _This one walks with his god,_ Jarlaxle thought, _and his god with him._

"Evil propagates evil," Tai continued, "and justice honor. If this assassin is truly the monster you claim, his current deeds will damn him. But if he is not what you claim, and is instead a just man at heart, your trial-less execution will be the greater evil. Therefore, it would be best if you allowed fate to take its course."

Hector was sneering. "We Tyrists do not rely on fate so greatly as you, Master . . .?"

"Vatoshie."

"Vatoshie, then." Hector straightened his shoulders despite his burn. "Instead, we rely on the law—"

"Blindly, Master Macatos. You rely on it blindly." Tai glided down the slope into the clearing, placing himself between the angry assassin and the haughty priest. "At any rate, as their temporary traveling companion, their actions are my responsibility now. As a priest of a fellow god of retribution, I demand that you stand down and leave them to my judgment. However," Tai cast a humorless smile upon Entreri for a moment, "I can assure you that if you continue your assault upon Master Entreri, the only justice this day will see is the justice dealt to an overly nosey man."

Entreri was grinning evilly, and, Jarlaxle noted, a bit hungrily as well. Hector was frowning, but he looked between Entreri, Tai, and Jarlaxle and seemed to reach a decision. "I will leave you be," he said, and Jarlaxle did not believe for one moment that the priest meant it. Still, when he turned to leave, Jarlaxle did not stop him.

Entreri, however, seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. He stepped forward, the hate still plain in his eyes. Tai turned toward him and raised his hands in a calming manner.

"Please, Master Entreri, let it go. It would be unwise to murder a priest of Tyr in this area; they have gained quite a foothold here. Let us wait to act—perhaps it will prove unnecessary to kill him."

Entreri stomped up to Tai and leaned into his face. The youth, who was only three inches shorter than the assassin, seemed somehow dwarfed. "And I am to abide by the request of a priest who claims jurisdiction over my actions?"

Tai's eyes were back to their normal wideness, and he stared up at Entreri with a boyish innocence. "Oh, not at all." His smile was completely disarming. "I just said that to get rid of the Tyrant!"

Jarlaxle, certain that Hector was indeed gone, stowed away his wand and considered the boy carefully. It was as if the priest had changed personalities suddenly: boy, wise man, boy again. Just exactly how much favor did Hoar bestow upon this youth? Apparently a great deal, if the young man's clerical powers were any indication. While the youth was not a powerful cleric, he was certainly more accomplished than any sixteen-year-old could normally hope to be.

"Now," Tai had continued, still smiling in the face of Entreri's scowl, "would you allow me to cure your burn? I can't imagine that it feels very pleasant."

Entreri looked tired suddenly, and turned away, retrieving the sword he'd dropped and putting away his weapons. He settled himself at the base of a tree, leaned against the trunk, and considered Tai for several moments. "Very well."

Tai grinned and rushed over to kneel beside the grumpy assassin. He examined the burn. "Oooh. Not pretty."

Jarlaxle joined them and watched the proceedings with a smile. "Indeed. You were very nearly smitten with holy fire today, my friend. Most unfortunate, although I'm unsure for whom it would have been the _more_ unfortunate—the divine or the reprobate. Although I dare say it would've proven a scarier day for the nine hells."

Entreri summarily told him what he could do with his sense of humor.

Tai laughed along with Jarlaxle, then held his hand out over Entreri's arm. He closed his eyes and fell into deep concentration and prayer. After a moment, he waggled his fingers, and most of the burn seemed to bleed away from Entreri's skin.

"Not bad," Entreri said, apparently begrudgingly.

Tai opened his eyes and sighed. "Sorry. I'm not yet in tune enough with Hoar to completely cure you."

Jarlaxle reached into a pouch of his new belt, recently acquired from Kimmuriel, and pulled out his healing orb. It had taken Kimmuriel several days to replace the items lost when Socor had inadvertently blown up Jarlaxle's belt. "Well, in the meantime I am capable of healing the rest."

Tai scooted over and watched with interest while Jarlaxle knelt and completed the healing of Entreri's arm. The assassin was looking a bit flustered by all the attention by that point. "Thank you," he mumbled.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Well, we must take care of our hot-headed assassin, mustn't we?"

Entreri gave him The Look, but Jarlaxle merely laughed once more and put away his healing orb.

"Just what we needed," Entreri said after a moment. "A priest of Tyr who is not only going after Socor, he's out to arrest and execute me as well."

Tai frowned. "Yes, it is inconvenient. You've never before seen this man?"

"I haven't. However, he looks and acts just like every priest of Tyr I've ever known."

Jarlaxle caught the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth, suddenly consumed with theories. Since Entreri's father and uncle had sexually abused him and Entreri manifested a deep hatred of priests, it was possible that his father or uncle had been a priest. And given Entreri's specific reaction to Tyrists and the fact the church of Tyr was active in Calimshan, it was likely his father or uncle had been specifically a priest of Tyr. But what if it were worse, even, that that? What if his entire family had been members of the church of Tyr, and had merely stood by and watched the abuse happen, doing nothing to help the child?

Tai was smiling at Entreri, a touch of empathy in his eyes. "You and I, we're both given to overgeneralization, aren't we?"

Entreri scowled at the boy. "By which you mean . . .?"

"We have one or two—maybe even three—bad experiences with something, and we assume everything in the world is all the same way."

Jarlaxle watched the boy with interest, then glanced at Entreri. The man had, after all, once said that he considered "supposedly goodly" priests the lowest life form, "just below troglodytes and green slime, the greatest hypocrites and liars in all the world."

The assassin had raised an eyebrow at Tai. "I assure you, I have reason enough to hate priests."

"But does one evil priest make us all evil? Or two? Or even three? Even if you ran across an entire temple full of evil priests who supposedly served a good god, would it make all the priests of that religion evil?" Tai was beginning to take on the "wise man" persona again. "I've done the same thing in my life, I assure you, but when I stand back and look at it, I must tell myself not to call them all Tyrants. It is not easy; I fight the tendency constantly. But I know that even if I met three dozen bad priests of Tyr, it doesn't really say anything about all Tyrran priests everywhere or all priests in general."

Entreri scoffed. "That may be true, but I also know what I've seen. And what I've seen, in forty years of life, is many supposedly goodly people or priests who are nothing more than hypocrites."

Tai blinked, but then seemed to recover instantly. He smiled softly again and patted Entreri's healed arm. "I have known those people, too. That is why I prefer to serve in Hoar's traveling priesthood. I will roam a great deal of Faerun in my life, and I will leave no name behind me. I will build no wealth. I will only promote justice, and when I am gone, no one will remember my passing. This lifestyle should help ensure that I would never become one of those people. And to me, that is a profoundly comforting thought."

Entreri was glaring at him. "So the exception now makes the rule?"

"Who says the rule wasn't made by the exception in the first place?"

It took Entreri a beat to catch up with that reasoning. "So you're suggesting I misformulated my entire concept of the world?"

Tai just smiled. "I'm not suggesting that the priests of Tyr you've known weren't evil, I'm merely suggesting that you might want to reconsider the nature of world you see."

Entreri snorted and pushed himself to his feet. "Fascinating, I'm sure, but there is a reason I'm an assassin and not a philosopher." He gave the boy a sidelong glance. "Are you not bothered by the fact I'm assassin, supposedly goodly priest?"

_Oh, no,_ Jarlaxle sighed internally. _We've lost ground._

"Not at all. There are many assassins serving Hoar."

Jarlaxle and Entreri both stared at Tai. "Assassins serve Hoar?" Jarlaxle asked. "Is he an evil deity?" Entreri turned an angry look upon him briefly.

Tai laughed. "Certainly not! Hoar is . . . well, just. His domain is retribution, and like a good judge, he is very neutral." He hesitated. "Let's put it this way: many paladins serve Tyr. But anyone who is interested in upholding the spirit of the law can serve Hoar. This occasionally includes assassins. Sometimes an unfair law must be broken, you see, in order for true justice to be served. Of course, a Tyrist would punish anyone who breaks any law—even in civil disobedience."

Entreri traded a look with Jarlaxle, but the drow wasn't quite sure what that look said. "Well," the assassin said after a long pause, "I guess that makes you tolerable."

Tai laughed off the implied insult, and for a moment, Jarlaxle was reminded of himself. The elf's initial assessment of Tai would have to be revised to include more complexity.

* * *

Two hours later, Jarlaxle stared ahead at Entreri and Tai, who both now rode the same horse. The easy gait of his mare actually made the elf tired, and he frowned in an unusual show of unhappiness. 

His levitation spell had failed.

Jarlaxle was aware that Drizzt Do'Urden had completely lost his ability to levitate after coming to the surface, but recently there had been conflicting rumors concerning the fate of drow who remained on the surface. Jarlaxle would have to invest Kimmuriel's help in researching the question. Yet, in the meantime, Jarlaxle felt vulnerable. He'd relied on his innate magic all his life, and in a world he still knew little about, he didn't want any disadvantages. Besides, what would Entreri think if he learned?

The drow shook his head, immediately confused. Entreri's loyalty to him during their last fight with Socor still had Jarlaxle puzzled. Here was a man known for treachery, a man who had been feeling threatened by Jarlaxle just prior to the fight, and yet this man had saved him as though it were the normal, natural thing to do.

The rational side of Jarlaxle's mind argued that it was not so surprising. Jarlaxle had offered the man a bit of simple friendship, and the man seemed to be offering him some in return. Likewise, he should expect that Entreri would treat the news of faltering magical powers with indifference.

Shouldn't he?

Jarlaxle's paranoid side immediately jumped in. This man was an assassin—a dangerous, treacherous man that no one could ever afford to genuinely trust. The drow should hide the vulnerability at all costs!

But a third part of Jarlaxle stepped forward, the part he listened to the least often: his heart. The part of him capable of occasional acts of compassion. The part of him that, when he held it in proper check, gave him the immense tactical advantage of empathy without sympathy. This part of Jarlaxle reminded him of the thought that had plagued him for a month now: What would it mean for him to acquire a genuine friend?

_Acquire!_ his heart scoffed at his mind.

Jarlaxle sighed, exhausted by his own conflicting emotions. He picked the hat up off his head and ran his hand across his sweating scalp. Suddenly, this entire venture no longer seemed an amusing game or fun adventure. Very real, very vulnerable pieces of himself were getting drawn into this, and he decided he didn't like the experience.

But his heart chimed in one last time: _You're missing something important, you fool. Put the pieces together: the priest, the sexual abuse, the act of loyalty. Add in the acts of compassion for yourself, Danica, and Morik. There is a picture here, a truth here, if only you can put together the pieces. And in the meantime, consider this: "acquiring" a genuine friend means having a friend who will not harm you._

Jarlaxle sighed again. Rationally, he knew he was indeed missing something. Something important, a key to who Artemis Entreri really was beneath all the pain, anger, and bitterness.

But could he really afford to take the time to figure out the puzzle? Could he chance truly placing his welfare in Entreri's hands? The man despised weakness, after all. Would he tolerate a drow with failing magical powers?

The only answer was to contact Kimmuriel and hope that the spell failed for some other reason—perhaps they were in a wild magic zone, or maybe it was a fluke, a random misfire. Either way, the only answer concerning Entreri was to _not_ find out the answers to his questions.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Bright morning sunlight lit the white lace curtains hanging in the window and cast a cheerful glow into the parlor. A rich, intricately-woven rug added a luscious, earthy feel to the polished wood floor, and a fresh bouquet of yellow roses sweetened the air. The scene would have been idyllic except for the sobs of the young woman on the sofa.

Hector Macatos frowned at the young woman before him—the latest of Socor's victims. Poor soul. Her body had already healed from the damage Socor had caused her, and fortunately, she wasn't with child. However, it would likely take years for her to recover emotionally. He placed a comforting hand upon her small shoulder. "Please do not cry, milady."

Blood-shot blue eyes peeked up at him through tousled blonde ringlets. "But, good priest, I—"

"Trusted the man too much, no doubt, and perhaps gave into your desires. But your sin is one of naivety and is not a grievous one, my dear." He smiled at her kindly. "Protect yourself from ever suffering such an experience again, for unfortunately there are many more men like Marrin Socor."

Hector turned his gaze upon the young woman's father, who stood behind the sofa. He had been introduced to Hector as a wealthy merchant of the small city. The gentleman was nearly six feet tall, so Hector was able to meet him eye to eye. The grim disapproval there concerned the priest. "Your daughter is neither the first, nor likely the last, young woman to fall prey to Socor, I fear. Her story is one I have heard many times."

The father frowned but refrained from comment. He was obviously equally angry at his daughter as he was concerned for her.

"If you'll forgive my saying so, sir, it is actually one of the better stories I have heard," Hector said, venturing a dangerous tactic. He needed to get the father to focus on the larger issue. "Some of Socor's victims have been as young as twelve years old, and he does not always bother to charm his victims into submission first, if you take my meaning."

The man growled. "Detestable! This man must face judgment and punishment."

Hector bowed. "I, along with many others, am seeking to do just that. We will not rest until the man is brought to justice." He met the man's gaze. "In addition to his crimes against girls and young women, he has killed several people with backfired spells, apparently by accident at first. However, recently he is believed to have killed an entire tavern of people on purpose while seeking revenge upon a single man."

"Then I pray that Socor will face the full weight of Tyr's judgment," the father replied, "not only for my own daughter, but for the other victims and their families as well."

Hector inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, good sir, as do we all. Now I beg you to see to your daughter, for she has had a terrifying and traumatic experience at this evil man's hands."

"I will," the father said, and Hector now felt certain that he would.

The priest looked back at the young woman before he left the parlor and found her blue eyes sharp with anger. He nodded to her before stepping through the doorway, hoping that her anger would ensure that she would not continue to see herself as a victim.

Once outside, Hector took a moment to stroke the nose of his poor horse. He would have to trade soon, for his companion was growing overly weary. Still, he could not afford to rest the horse just now. He had lost time answering the summons of the local Tyrran temple, and this was not the first time he'd been called in by a local priest to hear a new story about Socor. He was now at the point where he could predict which story he would hear; truly, Socor needed to be brought to justice immediately.

For just a moment, a single second, Hector entertained the idea that it would not be too terrible a thing if Artemis Entreri and his companions reached Socor first. At least then the man would be dead and would hurt no one further.

But no. An evil man such as Entreri did not deserve the chance to do something so honorable, even if it were indirectly and for money.

Hector sighed and mounted his horse, wishing not for the first time that he'd never heard of Artemis Entreri. But until ten years earlier, Hector had lived in Almraiven and had even spent some time in Calimport. During that time, he'd heard of Entreri more than once, and it had never been good. Upon his wife's death, however, Hector had traveled northeast to join his brother and his family in taming one of the less civilized countries. And uncivilized this region was, indeed! It seemed an outrage to Hector that Socor had not been captured and brought to justice yet.

Yet now this uncivilized region had one more detriment—it had Faerun's most feared and hated assassin running loose through it. And when Hector considered this bit of information, he wasn't sure which criminal he wanted to catch first: Socor or Entreri.

In Hector's mind, the priest of Hoar was wrong. Whatever had produced the twisted soul of Artemis Entreri had destroyed him forever. A man such as that could never be redeemed, didn't deserve to be redeemed, didn't deserve anything more than death. As Hector saw it, a crime was a crime, and criminals had to be punished. Such was Tyr's decree, and to not follow Tyr's decree was to let the land be overrun with chaos.

Besides, it would be unjust to have compassion on a man who offered no compassion to others, even if that man had never received any compassion in the first place. The time for teaching people the right way was past; punishment was the only option. And Hector would see that Artemis Entreri paid for each and every one of his crimes.

* * *

_The belt connecting solidly with his upraised arm, instantly drawing a welt. Plush red pillows, stained with alcohol and other things, thrown randomly across the floor. A portly figure kneeling above him, food stains on his robes and whiskey glistening in his beard. A hand reaching for him, stretching out to touch him in a way that his child's heart understood was wrong, even if his child's mind couldn't understand the experience. _

_"No, Father!" He knew what would happen next._

_The hand kept coming, kept coming, kept coming._

_"Shhh, child." The voice slurred. "You want to be a good boy for Daddy, don't you?"_

_The hand kept coming, kept coming, kept reaching, reaching._

_"No!" He was backed into the corner of the room, the hand nearly upon him. He kicked, punched with his tiny fists, but the man towering above him laughed drunkenly at his efforts. The child's gaze seemed to catch on the saliva shining on the man's lips as he clumsily dropped the whiskey bottle on the floor and pushed him down onto the pillows. The hand was now upon him, and all his desperate hits couldn't seem to push it aside. The anger and horror burned in his chest, and he yelled, but the hand did not relent. The sound of heavy breathing seemed to echo in his head._

Artemis Entreri bolted upright in his bedroll and instantly scanned his surroundings: campfire, Tai asleep, Jarlaxle keeping watch. Sensing no danger, he relaxed; it had only been a nightmare. Still, he was very nearly gasping for breath, and a sheen of sweat covered his entire body. His skin burned with the sensation of the ghostly touch; he could almost smell the whiskey. How he hated these nightmares! He hadn't experienced one in two tendays, and they hadn't been frequent, but the indignity of it! To be subjected to such torture when he had been sure he'd conquered these nightmares in late childhood, only to have them return—however briefly!—now.

Reminding himself that he was in no real danger, that the nightmares would soon fade away, Entreri cursed and looked suspiciously at the drow. Had Jarlaxle seen this time? Usually Entreri just awakened without sound or movement, but this time he'd jerked awake violently. The elf, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts and was staring out at the moon. Good. Perhaps he hadn't noticed.

Unlikely.

Entreri sighed and climbed out of his bedroll. There'd be no more sleep for the rest of the night now, he knew from long experience. He glanced at Tai as he passed, but the boy was deep asleep, and by the relaxed look on his face, not having nightmares. Entreri fought off a second sigh and sat beside Jarlaxle on the fallen tree trunk he was occupying.

"Difficulty sleeping?" the drow asked absently.

Unlikely, indeed. "Perhaps." Entreri nodded in the direction Jarlaxle was staring. "Maybe the full moon is responsible," he said in an attempt to deflect the elf's curiosity from himself.

The elf glanced at Entreri. "What would the moon have to do with sleep?"

"Likely nothing. There's an old wives' tale that the full moon makes a soul restless."

"Fascinating." Jarlaxle looked back at the large yellow orb which seemed to fill nearly half the night sky.

Entreri watched him for several minutes. The assassin had been joking the day before when he'd suggested Jarlaxle would ever pout or mope, but for all the realms, the elf almost seemed to be doing just that: brooding about something.

Not for the first time, Entreri wondered about his companion. It was an old habit he thought he'd killed long since. He remembered having the impulse to wonder about the origins of people, to wonder if the other thugs in the street came from homes as bad as his. He'd always blamed his mother for the impulse and had beaten it away . . . he thought. The last time he remembered having such thoughts was over the assassin Theebles had sent to test him. He'd stopped himself then and as a result had survived the fight. But now the habit seemed to be back.

Jarlaxle had continued to stare at the moon, and the assassin admitted to himself it would be a fairly awe-inspiring sight to a creature of the Underdark. But why was the elf brooding? "It will not disappear if you blink," he commented quietly.

Jarlaxle turned and smiled at him. "No, but it rarely looks so."

Entreri watched his face. "True." He was definitely upset about something. The assassin had finally learned him well enough to be able to detect that much, but he couldn't tell how upset or what kind of upset it was. Entreri reviewed the past two days' events and couldn't recall anything that would concern the elf. Hector Macatos certainly wouldn't. Thirty orcs wouldn't. Nothing he or Tai had said should. Of course, Jarlaxle was mostly one large mystery.

"So what do you think of our new friend?" Jarlaxle asked at length.

Entreri frowned. "He's an interesting boy. Seems inexperienced on one hand and mature on another."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Yes, a real dual personality."

_Much like you,_ Entreri wanted to say.

"Perhaps Hoar abides deeply in this one's heart," the elf said.

Entreri snorted. "Perhaps. But no god could ever abide deeply enough to truly affect the human heart."

"Really?" Jarlaxle's curiosity was evident.

_Oops,_ Entreri thought. He'd said more than he should again. Too late now. "Really. No god would care enough to do such a thing, either."

"Really?"

Entreri let his silence speak for him.

"Perhaps you should not be so quick to . . . ah . . . overgeneralize. After all, my friend, some so-called gods are not deities at all, but rather demons."

"And we are the players on their stage, their entertainment, their diversion from eternal boredom," Entreri snapped. "Life is the petty play we produce for them, and all at our own expense." Sarcasm blackened his tone.

"I play no part for the watching gods, my friend," Jarlaxle stated grimly. "No part at all. To the best of my mortal ability, I play only for myself." He sighed and paused for several moments. "Surely you are correct where it concerns the evil 'deities.' Surely the worshippers of such demons as Lolth are nothing more than pawns in her game, agents of her chaos. But I do not live to be a pawn. But for all of that, would even I say that all deities are as Lolth is?"

Entreri felt his eyes widen. Jarlaxle was rarely so forthcoming. "No, I cannot see you as a willing pawn of any god. I cannot imagine you as anything other than the master of the game, for while you are diplomatic and cooperative, you are no one's fool. After all, those like Lolth do not strike genuine bargains or make trustworthy deals. They do not work for mutual benefit or care at all about diplomacy, and you would not enslave yourself to one even for the sake of greater power or gain. You are too wise, too much of a survivor, to put yourself in such a dangerous position or to allow yourself to be at the mercy of their treacherous whims."

Jarlaxle smiled at the assassin and bowed his head in agreement. "Your intelligence and powers of observation serve you well, my friend."

"Surely," Entreri continued, "of all those I have ever known, you have worked to be the master of your own fate. But it is not what you can see, what you can predict in order to avoid, that must concern you. It is the influence the deities have over those around you, the power they hold over what you cannot see that you must watch. And if not the gods, then it's your own failing, for surely you can erect a prison of your own making—a prison of your own fears or vices or beliefs—and hold yourself there forever. If I have any wisdom, that is what I can say."

Jarlaxle stared at Entreri with a look he'd never seen, a look that bordered on surprise to be sure, but a look that held some emotion the assassin could not even begin to identify. "And what would my prison be, Artemis Entreri?"

Entreri snorted and stood. "What could it ever be, Jarlaxle of No Matron's House? You once said to me that given my skills, I could make my home anywhere. And now I say to you, given your intelligence and skills, is there any prison that should ever be able to hold you? Even your dark skin has not kept you from going where you've wanted to go on the surface. Is there anywhere that you cannot go or anything that you cannot do if you wish it?" Entreri raised an eyebrow at the drow's lack of response, then continued. "You have told me again and again in so many words to not live in the prison that is my life—that I should escape the coffin I lie in, if you will. See that you do not dwell in one yourself, my friend. The world does not like hypocrites."

For the briefest of moments, Entreri smiled, even if it was not the most pleasant of ones. Then he turned and walked away, taking the remainder of his thoughts with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The resounding boom rattled the limbs of the trees, sending birds into flight and scaring small animals from their hiding places. Marrin Socor cursed and spat on the now smoking corpse at his feet. Damn, but why did these fools keep tracking him down? Granted, each father or brother who sought him out gave him the opportunity to further refine his original spell or practice the new legacy spell he was creating, but did not the morons understand their folly? And why did they insist on rushing to the defense of their daughters' or sisters' honor? The women were capable of making their own choices—or indiscretions, in some cases—and did not need some stupid block of a man to rush out and get himself killed over what wasn't his business.

Socor shook his head at the absurdity of it, profoundly glad that he and the men of his family were not so foolish.

The wizard shrugged off his foul mood and left the corpse on the forest floor, unconcerned with its fate. No, the only thing that truly concerned Socor was the fact that Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle, now joined by a young cleric, were gaining on him.

Socor was ecstatic.

Yes, he was preparing for their next meeting. He would prove their superior this time, show them the true genius that was Marrin Socor. He would live up to the long heritage of the Socor name—a family of great wizards and philosophers—and would do so by killing these bounty hunters who had humiliated him. In fact, if he simply had a few more days to practice, he was confident he could kill them with not one but two magnificent spells of his own creation, both of them legacies of his brilliance.

Let it never again be said, the wizard mused, that Marrin Socor was failing to live up to his father's name. Let it never again be said that he was lazy or wasteful and was shaming the heritage of his ancestors.

Marrin Socor would prove himself to his father. He would prove himself to the whole world. He would be the most accomplished wizard the Socor family had ever produced.

And damn anyone who got in his way.

* * *

Entreri's nose announced the presence of a dead body long before the companions located the victim. The men had been catching up with Socor, they could tell, but it would take several more days before they'd actually be able to face off with him. In the meantime, they kept running across stories of some new assault or kill the man had committed, and the assassin wondered if they'd be adding yet another to the long list. Entreri led his horse off the road when his nose declared that the body was close, and moments later he found himself staring down at a gruesome sight. The corpse looked to be two or three days old, but the assassin could still tell how the man had died. "_Socor-rame,_" he murmured, repeating the words of Socor's legacy spell. 

"What?" Tai asked as Jarlaxle brought their horse up beside him.

"Marrin Socor killed this man with the evocation spell he's created," Entreri replied.

The youth looked grim; gone suddenly were all traces of the boyish exuberance Entreri had come to expect from the young man. "Socor?" His fists clenched. "Hoar will see this man avenged, along with all the other victims. Socor will face retribution."

Jarlaxle cast Entreri a vaguely amused sidelong glance, but Entreri merely nodded at the youth. "You may be sure of that."

Tai bowed his head in return, obviously accepting Entreri's words as truth. Normally, Entreri considered people fools if they trusted him, but in this case, the assassin was oddly . . . complimented. It seemed to the man that Tai simply refused to see anything other than his best qualities, although not out of blindness. It was more like the priest was giving him the benefit of the doubt, allowing him to be who he was without any preconceptions, and then respecting him for what he found.

At least that's the way it seemed to Entreri so far. He hadn't entirely figured out the boy yet, and he certainly wasn't sure how he felt about what he suspected.

"Should we perhaps scout the area?" Jarlaxle asked. "Likely this was a one-on-one fight, but there may be more."

Entreri nodded and turned his horse left, leaving Jarlaxle and Tai to scout to the right. A thorough search turned up nothing, however, and Entreri returned to the vicinity of the corpse to await Jarlaxle and Tai. He dismounted and stretched as he waited, easing his body of its aches. They had ridden nearly nonstop for days trying to catch Socor, and even someone in as good physical condition as Entreri couldn't take that kind of abuse without feeling it.

After a particularly helpful backstretch, the assassin found his attention wandering back to the dead body. Entreri had difficulty imagining the corpse had ever been a man. But it had been, his logical mind knew, and perhaps had been a man with a wife and children who were at that moment wondering and worrying where their father and husband was.

He'd never be coming home.

For one who'd lived most his life surrounded by the degradation of humanity, realizing such a thing was an odd thought. Once he'd escaped his father's and uncle's violence, Entreri had lived in streets full of starving people. Urine and filth mixed with the dirt of the alleys, corpses rotted in the gutter, and not a soul paid any of it any heed. As a boy, he'd noted that some of the prostitutes were only two or three years older than he, and likewise most of the other thugs and thieves were also around his age. An endless swarm of these orphaned or desperate children weaved in and out of the drunks, beggars, and corpses, and older thieves kicked the drunks out of the way or paid their pittance of coin to sleep with the gaudily-dressed children. And in the midst of it all was one nine-year-old child who knew such men a bit too well, a child willing to do whatever it took to survive, including theft and drinking out of sewers.

No, Artemis Entreri had never taken the time to care about corpses, nor had he wasted his energy on people he knew would never be able to rise above their miserable lives and save themselves. You could only save one person from such destitution and filth, he had realized, and if you were smart at all, you would save yourself. Compassion, then, was wasted and also dangerous because it could get you killed.

Yet his eyes now turned to the body of the man before him.

Entreri shook the thought from his mind. Prior to his trip to the Underdark and other more recent events, he generally left the past buried and refused to introspect, believing that dwelling upon anything at all—the past or the present—to be a sign of weakness. And sure enough, he didn't see any advantage to indulging himself.

A soft step on leaves was all the warning Entreri received, and he turned in surprise toward the approaching man, who gazed upon him with disgust. "Your facial expression a moment ago indicated pity for this man. You dare to show sympathy for the victim?"

Entreri scowled at Hector. "Well met," he said sarcastically. "I see you are still on the trail of Socor as well."

"You evaded my question," the priest replied bluntly as he stopped in front of Entreri.

"And if I did, why would that concern you, judgmental priest?"

"Sympathy from you?" Hector sounded incredulous. "You, the most heartless man in all Toril? I demand that you stop at once, for you make a mockery of an honest emotion!"

Entreri's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You assume much."

"I assume correctly. Dare I ask how many people you have killed in your career?" Hector drew himself up to his full height and peered down at the assassin from an advantage of a half foot. "No, Artemis Entreri, in your evil you have lost the right to show pity to anyone, even a corpse."

"That is preposterous. Just like a priest of Tyr to be so unreasonable!"

The men stared each other down, on the verge of fighting. Hector, however, visibly brought himself back under control, no doubt aware that Jarlaxle and Tai could not be far away. "Do not glare at me, foul assassin! What would you know of love or loss? You, who would likely run a child through just for not scampering out of your way quickly enough!"

Entreri sneered. "The absurdity of what you say proves how little about me you really know."

"What do I need to know, specifically, other than that you are an assassin? I know you kill; I know you are evil. I know that Tyr demands of me that I uphold the law and justice, and that as a priest of Tyr, it is my duty to hold you accountable for all that you've done and administer said justice for your crimes."

It was possible that there was nothing in all the world that angered Entreri more than self-righteous priests. "You know nothing. Truly. On my soul, you have no idea just what lies you spew. If everything you say is true, then explain to me this: my father was a priest of Tyr, and one of the most evil men I've ever met. Why did he escape the justice of his own god, then? Do you really think your god cares about you or is even paying any attention to what you do or say? He isn't. Because if he were, he would have never allowed a man such as my father to remain his priest, and he would have never allowed what happened to happen." The assassin shook his head. "No, you cannot judge me, cannot preach to me, cannot arrest me—I know too much. I've seen too much."

"Am I to assume then, based on your vague words, that your father beat you when you were a child? And am I to draw the conclusion that just because your father beat you, you now have the right to kill anyone you want? Tell me, how can you stand in judgment over your father if you both are selfish, violent, and hateful?"

Entreri almost killed him on the spot. Almost. It took a superhuman act of self-control to not lash out at the man. And the assassin wasn't sure which part he wanted to kill him for the most: the part that was true, or the part that was ludicrous. "First of all, do not even pretend to know or understand what I experienced. Secondly, I would not be alive today if I were unwilling to kill—I live in a violent world filled with death, and I learned early in life that no one will take care of me but myself. Thirdly—and most importantly—almost everyone I've killed has been someone that you yourself would order executed. The 'good' and the 'evil' alike kill—you judge them as good or evil based on why they kill, not the fact that they do. Is survival any less of a good reason than self-righteousness?"

"I order executions for the sake of justice!" Hector pointed a finger in Entreri's face. "You kill for money, and with little or no discernment."

Entreri snorted. "You kill for what you _perceive_ as justice, and I kill by what I _perceive_ as necessary. That doesn't make either one of us necessarily right or wrong."

"What? So it's all relative?" Hector threw up his hands wildly. "Everything is only a matter of opinion, and there is no truth?"

"No, don't be ridiculous. All my killings have been committed against members of the underworld, against people who deserved no better."

"Is that really so? Do you really believe what you say?" Hector's right hand twitched as though he might call upon divine power. "I do not believe that you do, but regardless, I will have you pay for each and every crime you've ever committed."

"What I assume about the world is not your business," Entreri snapped. "And you assume that if you kill me here and now in your self-righteous anger, you won't be committing the same crime yourself."

Hector grew very still and did not reply. Entreri smirked, realizing he'd finally hit upon something that the priest would at least have to reason through before countering. Knowing this did not help his anger abate any, however, so unless he were willing to complicate matters further by killing the cleric, he needed to leave. Entreri grabbed his horse's reins and walked away, wondering if it mattered at all, even slightly, that he'd never intended upon being a killer of any kind, that while his first kill had been necessary, he'd still been unhappy over having to take that first step down the road of becoming an assassin. He wondered if it mattered at all that the four-year-old child he had been, before his life had become a manifestation of the nine hells, would have never even kicked a dog.

Probably not. No one cared enough to consider who he'd been, what he'd experienced, or what he'd wanted life to be. And certainly no one had cared when he was a child, either. And for every family member, priest, and tutor who had looked away when his father hit him, who had ignored the way he could hardly bear to sit down some mornings, who had pretended that it was normal for a five-, seven-, or nine-year-old child to look so lifeless, so soulless, so angry—for every one of those people, Entreri believed there was a nail in the coffin of his existence that he didn't put there.

But could he not open the lid of the coffin and climb back out? Could he not choose a new road if he wished, just as Jarlaxle seemed to be pushing him to?

If anyone could even make a passing comparison between his father and him, he would have to.

* * *

From their position several yards away behind some brush, Jarlaxle and Tai watched Entreri stalk away, watched Hector turn and leave in the opposite direction, then stood in silence several minutes longer. 

"How tragic," Tai commented at last.

Jarlaxle thought he'd feel a touch of self-satisfaction at having another one of his theories proven correct, but he found instead that he simply felt sad, if enlightened.

"Of course I believe one should only do what is right and just, but I can also say I now have insight into our assassin friend," Tai continued in Jarlaxle's silence. "If Macatos is interpreting our friend's words correctly, then violence is the language he learned as a child. His worldview is warped, and it is no wonder. Only in an unthreatening environment can a child produce a proper concept of reality. However, now that he is an adult . . .."

"A small touch of determinism, then?" Jarlaxle replied. "What does that mean for me, a member of an evil race who grew up in an evil city?"

Tai seemed to consider his answer for several minutes. "That you are now on the surface indicates that somewhere along the way something you saw or experienced, or someone you knew, gave you the ability to analyze and question yourself and your world." Tai turned to regard the elf somberly. "Please do not misunderstand; I do not excuse injustice. But allow me to say that I truly believe the only point at which redemption is no longer possible is death. As long as you breathe, the chance remains. As long as you breathe, you have the right to your chance. A good person cannot say that a soul deserves no chance at redemption. A good person would never wish any soul into the nine hells."

Jarlaxle smiled at the priest. "Wise words, coming from a youth."

"Wisdom comes with a price," Tai said grimly. "Plus I have trained hard."

"So you believe Artemis Entreri can be redeemed from his evil ways as an assassin?" the elf asked lightly.

"'Can be?'" Tai echoed. "Try 'is being.' His own words reveal that he was never completely beyond hope to begin with. His words suggest a man who tries too hard to justify what he knows is wrong deep inside." Tai smiled then. "He can break through. With help."

For once, Jarlaxle did not smile back. In manipulating this man, he had taken responsibility for a portion of his well-being. He had approached helping this man as a game, but it was a game no longer. This "game" involved the soul of another being, and this other being had saved Jarlaxle's own soul, in a matter of speaking, by rescuing him from the crystal shard. Against a tide of violence and abuse, a world full of overwhelming contradictions and hypocrisies, and a lifetime full of bitterness and distrust, this man had decided to offer Jarlaxle what little care he could manifest from his broken soul. And Jarlaxle, were he really the more mature and knowledgeable creature he believed himself to be, now had to return that care in earnest, to help save a soul that had drowned in lies.

And to do that, he would have to remain at Entreri's side as long as it took, even if he lost every single inherent magical ability he possessed.

"No one ever said that doing the right thing was easy," Tai commented suddenly, and only the presence of his trusty eye patch kept Jarlaxle from believing that the cleric had read his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Marrin Socor dismissed his scrying spell and began pacing the floor of his rented room. As much as he wanted revenge upon Entreri and Jarlaxle, he didn't like the complications that were amassing. Not only did the bounty hunters have some young cleric with them, Socor now knew that a second cleric was tracking him as well—an older, more powerful one, a priest of Tyr. This did not make Socor happy. He would have to take care of the Tyrist first, then turn his attention to the others.

Socor had decided to allow the bounty hunters to catch up with him; he felt ready now. But thanks to divine means, the priest of Tyr would beat them to the town by about a day. Perhaps that was a good thing, however. Socor could eliminate the priest before the others even reached town. The wizard smiled. All he needed to do was ambush the cleric and the fight would be over quickly. Socor believed himself to be much more powerful than the cleric, but he would not take the chance. Besides, one could never underestimate the element of surprise.

And so it was that Socor was tucked in a tree above the cleric's head as he approached the town. As soon as the cleric had ridden past, the wizard levitated silently to the ground behind him and quickly, yet precisely, performed the intricate motions of his legacy spell. The wizard, now wiser for all his failures, simultaneously and carefully recited the arcane syllables of his spell, finishing triumphantly by exclaiming "_Socor-rame_!" He threw his right hand outward and unleashed a red tornado of tiny shimmering spheres from his palm.

The Tyrist, to his credit, sensed something was amiss, stopped, and turned his horse to face the way he'd come. He didn't have a chance to do more than open his mouth to speak, however, before Socor unleashed his favorite spell upon the man. The priest was knocked off his horse by the blast. He fell, a smoking heap, to the ground with a resounding _thump._

Socor snorted. "How boring. Much too easy. But it hardly matters; the bounty hunters will make things much more challenging, to be sure." He grinned. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. He was sure of it.

* * *

Entreri watched Tai unfold his legs and stand. It was half past midnight, and the young priest had just finished communing with Hoar. The night was unusually chilly for such a warm climate, so the youth had sat cross-legged near the campfire when he began. Once seated, however, the young man had seemed to fall into a trance, and Entreri had watched with vague interest as all traces of tiredness and stress had bled away from the youth's face. Even now, Tai's face appeared so serene in the light of the campfire that Entreri found himself nearly enviousness. 

Only the young and innocent could possess such peace, the assassin mused, but then again, he'd never had such peace. Well, not since he was four or five years old.

Entreri mentally kicked himself for such thoughts. If he didn't clear all these thoughts and memories from his mind soon he would run the risk of . . . of . . .. The assassin frowned. Something was pressing at him. Something deep inside of him was welling up and refusing to be pushed back down. Perhaps this youth, so wise and insightful for his age, was part of the reason Entreri was having difficulty. Tai seemed to provide a stark contrast to Entreri as he'd been at that age, perhaps even a mirror reflection of who Entreri was now as well. A sixteen-year-old cleric was an unusual thing, after all, and at Tai's age, Entreri also had been unusual—a lieutenant in Basadoni's guild and already an accomplished assassin. There was both a comparison and contrast there. But such had been the dark path to what Entreri had seen as his only chance for survival and success. Alone in the streets of Calimport, he'd seen no other way. There were temples that offered some assistance, but most were temples of Tyr, and Entreri had learned all too well what priests were really interested in. Or so he had believed at the time. In fact, it was all that any man had seemed interested in. After all, as soon as he had finally run away—before he'd even reached Calimport—_it_ had happened again.

But was Tai correct? Did he overgeneralize to the point of fault?

As Entreri watched Tai stretch the cramps out of his legs and back, he sighed and pushed all the negative thoughts and emotions away. Truly, it was a useless exercise.

Entreri had first watch while Jarlaxle rested, and Tai had offered to stay awake with Entreri since he needed to pray for his spells. The result had been utter peace and quiet for almost an hour. Given Jarlaxle's predilection for talking, quiet could be a very good thing. Right now, however, Entreri needed something to distract himself from his own thoughts. The priest seemed the only source of entertainment available, though.

Tai moved closer to Entreri, sitting down by him. "Well, I'm all done," he announced in a quiet voice and smiled. The youth's big brown eyes, barely visible under his fringe of dark hair, sparkled with some kind of joy the assassin did not understand.

Entreri glanced over at the resting Jarlaxle, but he seemed to be deep in the trance that elves called Reverie. He returned his attention to Tai. "You seem terribly joyful most of the time for someone who is out to avenge the murder of his cousin."

The joy immediately fell away from the boy. "I assure you, my anger over the death of my cousin is quite present. Perhaps the grief is not as strong as the familial tie implies—I had only recently begun to become truly acquainted with him. Perhaps instead my grief is more for the relationship we could have had if Socor had not killed him." A ghost of a smile returned to Tai's face. "But joy is not something that often comes to a person unaided. There is a great deal about life that is negative and depressing. One must make a practice of focusing on the good—even on the smallest of positive things—in order to find a measure of peace or joy."

"The simple, small joys?" Entreri asked sarcastically.

Tai grinned outright, apparently undaunted as usual. "Yes, precisely. There is enough good in the world to blind the young and innocent, and enough evil in the world to destroy the hearts of everyone else."

"And 'innocence, once lost, can never be regained,'" the assassin said, quoting an old saying with a sigh.

"Quite true. Certainly, it is easy to be caught in the darkness, to feel that life will never get any better, and that you can never be happy again. And for some people, it is indeed a lot to ask that they see the brighter side of life. Some people suffer under the pain of tragedies that most cannot imagine. And yet to believe that you can never make anything more of your life, can never rebuild or recover, is to damn yourself outright. What you seek in life is ultimately what you will find. If you seek peace and joy, if you accept and work through what pain befalls you, then you will find peace and joy."

"Do you not think that is rather simplistic," Entreri argued, ever cynical, "especially for those who live in constant danger—surrounded by war, threatened by militaries or guilds, targeted by assassins?" His smirk was a touch wry.

Tai shook his head. "I realize that. But it is not simple at all, not for anyone. It takes a great deal of effort—and courage—to accept the pain and uncertainty that the path to peace and healing brings. But consider this: would it be more worthwhile to succumb to the terror or bitterness or anger?"

"By which I assume you implicate me. But I assure you that my 'dark' worldview has served me well. If it works, why change?"

"Does it work?" Tai immediately asked.

The assassin sighed and wondered if Tai, like Jarlaxle, had an answer for everything. "If what you say is so, priest, tell me how one as young as yourself has arrived so succinctly at such a profound conclusion."

Tai frowned, and the spark of pain and sadness in his eyes took Entreri aback momentarily. "It is story that you, in your obvious hatred of Tyrists and priests, would not be surprised to hear, I imagine."

Entreri was actually a very good listener. His ability to make accurate observations of others and garner information had been dependent on his ability to shut up and listen. Allowing others to do most of the talking—even in the case of the elusive Jarlaxle—inevitably provided him with important information. So the assassin fell immediately into listening mode with the hope of gleaning as much about Tai as he could.

Apparently sensing the interest and attentiveness of his audience, Tai continued without having to be prompted. "When I was six years old, my eldest brother took exception to one of the new laws the count of our land handed down. He . . . uh . . . well, let's just leave it at this: my brother engaged in a bit of civil disobedience. He was arrested, and the lord ordered his execution. The punishment was out of proportion to the crime. My family, who were all members of the church of Tyr, appealed to our priest to counsel the count to mitigate the punishment. Tyr, after all, asks for just punishment, not blind fury.

"But not only did the priest not intercede on our behalf, he publicly condemned our whole family for being too lax. He said the entire family was to blame for my brother's behavior. In the place were I am from, this is a serious and powerful accusation, for my people do indeed place a high value on the role of family. Your actions as an individual can and often do reflect not only on you, but on your family, ancestors, and unborn children. The priest's words damned us. My brother was executed, and my entire family shamed."

Entreri frowned. The pain in Tai's eyes was evident, yet he spoke calmly about the events as though he'd managed to move past a majority of it.

"My family could have been easily destroyed by the event. Most of our other relatives stopped associating with us, and a great deal of our fellow townspeople either ignored us or treated us with a great deal of derision. However, my parents, remaining siblings, and I all pulled together. I, as the youngest, probably had the hardest time. I wanted to direct my rage against all the Tyrists; I wanted to hate the entire world. It was so unfair! So unjust. How could these people—for most of my family and fellow villagers were Tyrists—call themselves just? They were hypocrites, liars, evil people." Tai smiled sadly. "But my family helped me to work through most of that. Still, I felt a certain separation from humanity, and that was something that both made me unhappy and concerned my parents."

Entreri nodded. He understood quite well the sensation of being somehow outside of humanity.

"When I was eleven," Tai continued, "I left to live with one of my uncles, an unmarried one and one of the few who hadn't damned us. He lived rather far away—well, close to here—and he was a priest of Hoar. My parents hoped that the change of scenery would help me. My uncle said that he sensed something special about me, and he immediately began training me to be a cleric of Hoar. For five years I trained under my uncle, learning to pray, to listen for an answer, to channel divine power, and most importantly to discern true justice, guilt, and blame."

The young man fell into silence for a few minutes, and Entreri waited patiently. "With my family's help—especially my parents' and uncle's—I was able to heal, to see what the rage did to me and does to others, to see what I should seek in life, to see what tragedies such as the one I experienced do to others. And now I seek, among other things, to make sure that the truly guilty are the only ones punished. Hoar, unlike Tyr, would never call for the punishment of someone who committed civil disobedience."

"So your connection to others made you who you are," Entreri mused, and not even the assassin himself could quite identify the tone of voice with which he spoke. Still, the boy's story aside, he had to wonder, like Jarlaxle, just how much favor Hoar was showing Tai.

Tai smiled, but it was a sad one, indeed. "Yes. Then six months ago one of my cousins sought out my uncle in order to learn the way of Hoar also. But he was involved in a confrontation with Socor and was killed when the wizard lost control of a spell."

Entreri nodded.

Tai considered him intently for several moments. "You note the power my connections have had on me, and yet you are not without connections of your own. What about your friend?"

Entreri blinked at Tai. His friend? Jarlaxle? Entreri glanced at the resting elf, then turned back to Tai. "You would place the welfare of my immortal soul in the hands of a drow?"

Tai laughed. "He's a strange fellow, it's true. But he seems to genuinely care about you, perhaps even against his so-called better judgment or nature."

"Care?" Entreri snorted. "I doubt that very seriously. I have been, since the moment I met him, nothing more to him than a tool. I am significant to him only for my skills, and once I cease to be either useful or entertaining, he will abandon me." Something deep, deep inside of the man seemed to cry out at those words, but the assassin didn't stop to pay attention to what the cry said. "It is nothing personal. Jarlaxle is a clever opportunist who sees everyone as an expendable tool. It has served him well." Entreri grinned with a dark irony. "It works. Why change?"

Tai chuckled. "Because you are friends."

Entreri snorted again.

"Is there nothing you give him other than your skills and . . . uh . . . entertainment?"

The assassin fell into deep thought, trying to formulate an answer to a question that had indeed troubled him, although he had yet to admit it to himself. He thought through all that had passed between them, some of it good and some of it terrible. And what he came up with was the way he'd pulled Jarlaxle out of the crystal tower and away from the shard, and the way he'd substituted himself, for a reason he didn't understand at all, in Jarlaxle's place in Waylein's fortress.

_Loyalty!_ Entreri thought with a shock. He was . . . showing some type of loyalty to Jarlaxle! But why? He owed the elf nothing.

_Dwahvel,_ his mind whispered to him, presenting him with the image of possibly the only being Entreri had ever known who had proven loyal to him. And now he was showing some version of loyalty to Jarlaxle. But what did it mean?

When Entreri stayed silent for too long, Tai continued. "If you really do believe what you say about your friend, then why are you with him? Why would you stay with someone who doesn't see you as a person?"

"I know how he sees others. What is there to fear? The underworld is full of people like him and people like me. I am no better than he. We know the games each other play, and we are associates for what we gain."

"What do you gain?" Tai asked, apparently honestly curious.

Entreri stared at the boy, but what he saw was the smiling face of the clever, resourceful drow mercenary. His heart tried to answer the question, but he would not allow it to speak. "Like Jarlaxle, I get entertainment."

Tai did not pursue the question, and Entreri decided then that the boy was truly wise. "As you say, Master Entreri. But I would like to invite you to reconsider your opinion of priests and deities. Hoar, I assure you, is nothing like Tyr, and the followers and clerics of Hoar share little in common with those of Tyr. As an assassin, and a man with some sense of honor and justice . . . however, uh, dark they may be . . . your philosophy is not so far away from Hoar's. You feel that those you kill deserve to die, correct?"

Entreri narrowed his eyes, trying to determine how the boy had gained such insight into him.

"Am I wrong?" Tai asked nervously. "You don't seem like the kind of person who pulls the tails off of puppy dogs for fun."

Entreri snorted at the youth's odd choice of words. "No."

Tai smiled. "Then you and I do indeed inhabit somewhat similar universes."

Entreri shook his head, almost amused at the boy's attempt to convert him.

Several feet away, Jarlaxle kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. Entreri and Tai were having a truly enlightening conversation, but the sting caused by the assassin's words about him surprised the drow. When had he grown so irrational as to actually feel almost hurt at such an accurate summary of himself?

But was it accurate?

No, perhaps it wasn't, Jarlaxle reflected. He had realized several tendays ago that Entreri was no longer just a tool to him. Jarlaxle was offering him friendship, and it was somehow unsettling to hear Entreri dismiss that. Especially since Jarlaxle was helping, one could even say protecting, the man . . ..

Jarlaxle stopped his line of thought as a startling question hit him: was Entreri protecting him as well? Entreri was his excuse to stay on the surface, it was true, but was he also providing him a safe haven from which to experiment and explore? A place from which to show a side of himself he could never show in the Underdark?

Jarlaxle cursed internally and worked to hold his mask of Reverie in place. Not for the first time in the past few tendays, the mercenary felt quite vulnerable. He had been too arrogant once again. He . . . needed . . . Entreri. The real Entreri, the man he could be: a loyal friend. He wanted that one thing that he'd only begun to find once before in Zaknafein, and then lost. But people like Drizzt, who Jarlaxle knew to be worthy friends, would not befriend someone like him. Finding such a thing was only possible through someone who could understand and accept who he was.

The risk involved was great, but Entreri would make a very powerful friend and also a very intense one. If only Jarlaxle could garner the courage to take a genuine risk with the man in addition to trying to influence him.

Somehow, when Jarlaxle had imagined complicated but intriguing adventures on the surface, this was not what he'd had in mind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

By noon the following day, the odd little group had reached the small town of Lycana, which was the last place Socor had been sighted. Jarlaxle had suggested that they enter the town through the forest instead of by the dusty road in the faint hope that they might approach the town undetected by the wizard. The drow admitted that such a thing was unlikely, but the group agreed it couldn't hurt.

Entreri, in the lead with Tai sharing his horse, was the first to see the odd heap of leaves and brush amongst the trees ahead of them. "That is the perfect size for a corpse," he noted darkly, "although my sense of smell doesn't suggest such a thing."

Tai leaned to the side to peer around him. "Do you think it's another of Socor's victims?"

Entreri smirked. "It's likely another outraged father. Poor bastard."

Tai raised both eyebrows at this assessment and smiled. "Hopefully not."

The group stopped by the suspicious heap and dismounted. "It's not a very good burial job, if that is indeed what this is," Entreri commented as he brushed aside the leaves and twigs. Tai gasped, and the assassin frowned at the pale man he'd uncovered. "The priest." He stepped back, his lip curling in a sneer.

"Is he dead?" Tai rushed forward and took a closer look. Hector was covered in burn marks, his skin pallid where he was uninjured.

"No," Entreri replied, and indeed the burnt man was faintly breathing. Tai grimaced and knelt beside him, pushing more of the leaves and brush away.

"Do we help him?" Jarlaxle asked Entreri with obvious curiosity.

The assassin snorted. "Help the man who wants me dead?"

"Yes," Tai said. "I do not agree with this man's philosophy, and I would not allow him to harm you, Master Entreri. But he is an innocent victim. He was seeking only justice in pursuing Socor, and I must respect that." With that, the cleric closed his eyes and focused, drawing upon the divine power of Hoar to heal the man. He waggled his fingers over Hector, and a portion of the burns faded. Hector, however, did not regain consciousness. Tai bit his lip and sat at his side.

"The Tyrist seeks justice in pursuing me," Entreri reminded Tai after a few moments of silence.

Tai looked up and smiled. "But there are differences. You are sane. I believe Socor to be half-mad. Macatos pursues you based on old information. I know you now. But ultimately, I admit, this is a matter of my wishing to convert you." The youth chuckled.

Again, Entreri had the faint sensation that he'd missed something somewhere, but Tai's claim to want to convert him took priority. "I will not be the slave of any god, I assure you."

"Don't think of it in terms of slavery." Tai shrugged. "It is true that submitting yourself to the will of a god is the most helpful and appropriate thing to do—unless you worship a demon, I should say. After all, deities are all-knowing and powerful, and they can guide you to answers that you yourself could never see or find. But the submission is an act of trust and respect, not a gesture of weakness. It is not meant to take all your choices from you. Remember that as a human, you always retain your free will."

Entreri crossed his arms and frowned at the cleric. Jarlaxle was watching them with a mixed look of surprise and fascination, but he remained silent.

Tai sighed. "Too bad. A great deal of vengeance could be carried out with the skills of one such as you."

"If I chose to, I could do that without the help of a god."

"Ah, yes, but the discernment of a god is greater than that of a mortal. Hoar could enhance your abilities and give you guidance." Tai's signature smile returned with his succinct answer.

The assassin shook his head. "But a god—"

"Hoar asks so little of his followers in return," Tai interrupted quietly. "Only that they share his philosophy and that they enact vengeance by poetic means when possible. I assure you, my faith is not a burden to me. It enhances my life and values. But accepting a god is not a decision that can be reached through logic—it is a decision of the heart."

Entreri was on the verge of a particularly nasty sarcastic remark, but Jarlaxle cut him off. "Perhaps if more people were as clear-headed about their faith as you, dear Tai, my friend would not so despise priests." He smiled at Entreri, who promptly frowned at him. "But we must set aside the philosophical discussion for now and attend to Hector."

Entreri groaned. "You are going to help him as well?"

"Perhaps he has information that can aid us," Jarlaxle said, ever pragmatic. "If he continues to pursue you later, we'll simply kill him, yes?"

The assassin found he could not really argue this point and nodded his agreement. Jarlaxle grinned and produced his healing orb.

* * *

He was but a young child. Five years old? Six? He could remember the way his hand looked so tiny grasped in hers, could remember the way she reached out to him with her other hand and cupped his check, covering the welt there. He could also remember her pulling away and coughing blood into her handkerchief and his chest tightening in fear as he realized he was losing her. 

Artemis Entreri pulled himself forcibly from his memory, shaking his head clear of his mother's image. Sitting alone by the window of his inn room, however, he found that the memory didn't depart very quickly. The image of his mother's face returned to him, a warm ghost brushing at the edges of his mind only to vanish in the next moment. But those words! If she had really spoken them, could she have known their bitter irony?

Entreri turned his gaze away from the window and the scene below, which consisted of nothing more than a muddy street filled with people, horses, and carts. Instead, the assassin looked into the small mirror above the room's dressing table. His grim reflection stared back at him, and for the first time in his life, he realized he could be looking at the image of either of his abusers. Of course, he was much more slender and well-groomed than either his father or uncle had been, but his angular features and strong jaw line were theirs. The priest of Tyr had implied more than a surface resemblance. Entreri simultaneously rejected and pondered the accusation because it led to a more disturbing question: had his grandfather abused his father and uncle just as they'd abused him? Was he, as a man with no wife or children, the endpoint of some long line of abusers?

The thought had never occurred to him before. But he found that it didn't make any difference. There could never be an excuse for the horrors they'd visited upon their own flesh and blood.

Was there an excuse, then, for the death he'd handed to so many people?

No, it wasn't the same, Entreri immediately answered himself. He had been their son and nephew, respectively, and knowing personally what torture they were visiting upon him, they had less than no excuse. They had been family, and families were not supposed to betray one another.

Entreri, on the other hand, had been a killer among killers. His entire world was built upon the concepts of treachery, destruction, and death, and he was merely a successful player of that game.

Wasn't he? Or had the game at times played him? He'd always believed all his victims to be either criminals or misinformed do-gooders who impeded his progress. But had his path, his worldview, somehow colored his perception? Was that, ultimately, not what Tai had been suggesting the previous night? And what if, due to this colored perception, he'd misunderstood or miscalculated?

A younger Artemis Entreri would not have cared either way. That man had been only concerned with his own survival and with being the best.

The older, wiser Artemis Entreri was also concerned foremost with his survival, but this Artemis also found himself wondering if he should have been more discerning in his choices. And taking time to wonder it at all, he understood, proved he was concerned.

It was similar to the scenario with the girls he and Jarlaxle had saved from the highwaymen, he realized. He remembered asking Jarlaxle, with no small amount of contempt, what they would do with them. And by bothering to ask at all, to even waste his breath, he had unknowingly betrayed his slowly changing attitude.

With a growl of impatience, Entreri mentally shrugged and slammed the door upon all his thoughts. It was time to check on the hated priest of Tyr. With a sigh, the assassin stood and walked to the neighboring room, which he entered without knocking. A pallid Hector lay in the bed, but neither Tai nor Jarlaxle were anywhere to be seen. Likely they were eating lunch downstairs.

Entreri stood at the foot of Hector's bed and scowled at the sleeping form. How he hated the man! And how he despised everything the priest stood for in his mind: blind faith, hypocrisy, idealism, and a living lie.

Hector, apparently sensing the presence of the assassin—or maybe his glare instead—stirred and opened his eyes. "Entreri," he murmured.

The assassin just continued to glare.

"I thought about it," the priest said vaguely. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed somewhat drugged. Perhaps it was something Tai had given him to either help with the healing or the pain. "And I finally remembered. Omero Entreri. Minor priest in the temple at Memnon. Met him once when visiting the temple there." Hector paused, ostensibly to catch his breath. "We had a particularly lively theological conversation one afternoon. Probably would've never remembered him if not for that. Your father?"

Entreri's scowl could have blasted a layer of skin off the hurt man.

Hector nodded slightly. "Thought so. He seemed . . . an upright and well-educated man."

The assassin snorted. "Educated, yes. He even, in part, passed on some of that education to me. Upright, no. Though I am unsurprised that you cannot tell the difference."

"I have no doubt that you suffered as a child," Hector said, his voice scratchy from his pain. "But that does not excuse your lifestyle."

"I never asked for an excuse," the assassin quipped, "nor do I offer one. Neither am I looking for acquittal. Least of all from you."

Hector frowned. "That is fortunate, for I shall not give it. I will bring you to justice."

Entreri renewed his glare. "What kind of justice, hypocritical priest? Judgment for inadvertently doing your job for you?"

"Guilt is not written in your book, is it?"

"We've covered this already. My victims have not received anything more than what they deserve." Entreri smirked. "And when I kill Marrin Socor, the same will be true for him."

"Evil cannot defeat evil anymore than fire can put out fire." Hector looked ready to growl, but he relaxed suddenly and sighed. "Never mind. What truce may we draw here, Artemis Entreri? For Socor is a man of many evils, and he must be brought to justice. And, obviously, you will reach him first."

The assassin shrugged. "Did you not just answer your own question? We agree on one thing: Socor is an evil man, and he will die. That is the fate of those who play any version of the great game."

"And you?" Irony tinged Hector's voice. "Will you be killed by the game as well?"

"Yes," Entreri replied flippantly. "In the end, I will be stabbed in the back, and I will get no better than what I deserve—whatever that may turn out to be. And in the meantime, I'll be doing your job for you yet again by killing Socor." He laughed at Hector's sour expression.

The door burst open, causing Entreri to jump to the side and draw his weapons. Jarlaxle rushed into the room, turning to face the assassin. He was covered in minor burns and cuts.

"What happened?" the assassin asked.

"It was Socor," Jarlaxle replied. "And he's abducted Tai."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"What?" the already-irritated Entreri snapped. "Tell me what happened!"

Jarlaxle was frowning, his brow creased. "I'm not entirely sure. Tai had gone to the store for supplies—"

"You let him separate from us, knowing Socor is nearby?" Entreri scowled.

Jarlaxle glared at him. "Are we his keepers, then, assassin?" He shook his head when Entreri's scowl deepened. "I heard a commotion in the street and went to investigate. I ran outside just in time to witness the end of a battle—Tai and Socor were fighting. Socor won. When he saw me, Socor hit me with a spell I did not recognize and escaped with the boy."

Entreri was furious, although he wasn't sure about what or at whom. The dark cloud that had hung over him earlier as he'd pondered the past seemed to swell and claim him. Entreri sheathed his weapons and motioned for the elf to follow him to their room. He didn't care to have Hector observe their discussion. Once the door was safely shut behind them, the assassin faced Jarlaxle again. The mercenary looked distinctly unhappy.

Entreri opened his mouth to speak, but the question that came out surprised even him. "Do you think Tai survived?"

Jarlaxle was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I believe so. I have no way of knowing for sure, but it appeared that Tai was merely knocked unconscious."

"Bait?" Entreri asked.

"It is possible."

"Or Socor killed him once he escaped you." The assassin was grim.

Jarlaxle watched him for several moments, and then smiled as though very pleased. A familiar gleam lit his eyes. "So do we rush to save him, Artemis Entreri?"

The gleam was a bit too familiar. Entreri's stomach seemed to sink as a wave of comprehension crashed into him, and the force of the disappointment seemed to kick the assassin in the chest. What he'd said to Tai about Jarlaxle had been correct, for nothing had truly changed. "It's all still a game to you." It was a calm, flat statement that conveyed ten thousand words in less than ten, and all those words spoke of disappointment and betrayal.

The mercenary was so taken off guard that he jerked slightly backwards. "What are you about?"

"That look," Entreri explained. "It's almost the look of a drow who's orchestrated an entire scenario just to manipulate my actions and see how I'll respond."

"I have done no such thing!"

"I didn't say that you had, only that you're acting as if you could have." Entreri crossed his arms and stared hard at the elf. "You're more interested in my response than Tai's life. You're wondering if all your combined manipulations and influences have had an effect."

The mercenary glared at him. "I have an understandable curiosity over your decision, but that does not equate—"

"We are not pawns or tools," Entreri interrupted. "We are not here for your amusement. I can accept good business sense, I can accept looking out for your own interests and working toward your own gain. But if you cannot see and accept me as a person, then our paths diverge here."

Jarlaxle experienced a moment of shattering insight. He had wasted his time—a mistake almost unprecedented for the clever mercenary. Entreri had already maximized his ability to befriend and trust another being, and ultimately the man was basically incapable of either. Strange, however, that when the moment of betrayal came it wasn't a matter of life-or-death. Instead, it was an ultimatum. Strange also was the sting of regret, almost pain that he felt. "I have abided by our previous unspoken agreement, Artemis Entreri. Truly, you are the most suspicious and angry creature I have ever known. I do not consider you a pawn or tool, nor am I trying to—"

"You are already lying again." The assassin smirked. "As I told you before, I am well aware that you see everyone as a tool—controllable and expendable. Do you think I have forgotten? Given that fact, why would I be any different to you?" An unreadable expression passed across the man's face momentarily, but it vanished instantly.

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. "I am being lectured on my ability to forge connections with others by a man who insisted upon being such a loner that he did not even wish to have any business partners? The man who so obviously believed that having a fighting companion would prove a weakness?"

"And I am being lectured by a drow so paranoid that he insists upon remaining a total mystery to everyone around him?" Entreri retorted. "Are you not a loner as well? Do you really believe that you are forging connections with others by simply surrounding yourself with a group of associates? If you cannot trust a single one of them and cannot see them as anything but tools, then you are as alone as I."

Jarlaxle felt a burning in his chest he couldn't quite identify. "And by this argument you would judge me?"

"No, but perhaps I should, for you are ultimately the more alone. After all, I am a loner by conscious choice—you are unknowingly a loner by method." Entreri started to continue, but he clenched his jaw for a moment as though he didn't wish to speak the words. After a pause, he resumed. "Likewise, I am here with you now," he said quietly. "But in a manner of speaking, you are not here with me."

_Untrue!_ Jarlaxle started to respond, but his own thought shocked him to the point he couldn't speak. Suddenly, all his ponderings upon Entreri and the concepts of friendship, loyalty, and manipulation seemed to collide in his mind in one tangled wreck.

Entreri turned to leave.

"What of Tai?" Jarlaxle called after him.

"What, indeed?" Entreri asked as he turned back. "I refuse to perform for you."

"Perform? When have I ever so used you or harmed you?"

The assassin's expression was grim, indeed. "You do not wish for me to answer that." He presented his profile to Jarlaxle and stared at the floor. "You do not really care what happens to Tai. And neither do I."

Entreri left then, and to Jarlaxle, everything about the situation seemed wrong. And it was wrong, Jarlaxle realized as he examined his own reactions. He liked Tai and did not want to see the clever boy die. But what of Entreri and his accusations?

From the wreck of thoughts in his mind, one simple truth emerged: amidst the chaos and intrigue of drow society, a young Jarlaxle had clung to a single concept: self-empowerment and prosperity. He'd pulled himself up out of near-nothingness, his sight ever upon both the short- and long-term goals. And yet the odd streak in him had been unsatisfied, had always been searching—for greater adventure and gain he'd thought. But perhaps underneath all his other desires and goals, Jarlaxle secretly wanted a friend. Someone who he could respect and trust. Someone similar to Zaknafein.

Jarlaxle frowned, unhappy with this revelation and the vulnerability it caused. Then a thought struck the drow: his argument with the assassin had occurred because Entreri had misinterpreted Jarlaxle's words as a betrayal of their unofficial "treaty." However, in the face of this "betrayal," the assassin hadn't reacted with violence, which proved that Entreri's recent acts of loyalty toward Jarlaxle were indeed based on friendship. Apparently, the assassin's anger resulted from feeling defensive and vulnerable over this loyalty.

Jarlaxle experienced a second sensation in his chest, but this time it didn't hurt. Instead, it was an oddly warm feeling. "You fool," he whispered with little heat, and he realized he was implicating himself as much as he was Entreri. They were both having the same reaction for almost the same reasons.

_But of course!_ Jarlaxle chided himself with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. He'd almost done it again—he'd almost allowed his past experiences to rule him, but he'd overcome it. Now all he had to do was find Entreri and exert some diplomacy to smooth things over.

They needed to save Tai.

* * *

Entreri concealed himself in the woods behind the inn and tried to clear his mind. He sat on a tree stump and simply allowed the warm afternoon breeze to wash over him, tried to focus on the sounds of the rustling leaves and chirping birds and drive out all distracting thoughts. Unfortunately he failed miserably, for the issue of Tai and Jarlaxle wouldn't leave him be. 

How he really felt about Tai's abduction was the difficult part. After a moment's thought, he acknowledged he liked the boy despite the fact he was a priest who had tried to convert him.

The assassin frowned and shook his head, deciding to deal with the second problem first. Jarlaxle. His argument with mercenary, he felt, was a moot point. Still, it all boiled down to a matter of trust, and that meant—

The assassin stopped mid-thought and frowned. His argument with Jarlaxle and his reluctant reflections on his childhood all had the same theme: trust. His father had betrayed him terribly—he had turned to him in perversion, and worse still, had allowed his uncle to do the same. From that moment on, he'd not trusted anyone; in fact, he'd often betrayed others first in order to protect himself. In other words, he had allowed this experience to rule his entire life! Entreri's breath seemed to freeze in his chest with the realization. Every decision he'd ever made, every belief he'd ever held, every action he'd ever taken had been fueled by his sense of betrayal coupled with the drive for survival.

Entreri sighed, the truth weighing heavily on him. He'd carried that mindset into the streets with him; he'd carried it all his life. Not only that—he'd gone so far as to believe that if he had to save himself, then everyone else should also if they deserved their life.

By that philosophy, Tai didn't deserve to be rescued.

But that was letting his past rule him, Entreri realized, and that could prove to be a weakness. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place in the assassin's mind. And Tai had been right: it wasn't about self-righteousness or blind justice. It was simply a matter of doing what he knew should be done.

Entreri nodded to himself, dismissed all further thoughts, and left to find Jarlaxle. This proved easier than he expected, for when he stepped out of the woods he found that the elf was halfway across the backyard of the inn, apparently trying to find him. Entreri walked up to Jarlaxle, and the two simply locked gazes for several moments. Somehow, they had to make peace, but Entreri couldn't imagine either one of them apologizing. Still, as he matched the elf's gaze, he recognized that the mercenary was no longer angry, realized that they were feeling much the same way. And most importantly, they were of like mind concerning what to do next. Jarlaxle nodded solemnly, and when Entreri inclined his head in return, the elf smiled and clasped his shoulder.

"Shall we?" Jarlaxle asked, gesturing toward the road, and his signature mischievous twinkle once again alighted in his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Tai glared at his captor and focused on keeping his breathing steady. Blood trickled down the side of his face from a wound on his temple, and his chest burned with the blisters caused by Socor's odd spell. Tai knew he was badly hurt, but since he wasn't about to sit passively, he strained against his bonds despite the pain. Socor, however, had done his job well: not only could Tai not free himself, he couldn't cast any spells. His hands were bound too tightly, and he was gagged. Socor watched his efforts with amusement, and Tai, realizing the entertainment he was providing, stopped struggling.

Somehow, when Tai had thought Hoar was leading him to join Entreri and Jarlaxle because it would be the best path to justice, this was not what he had in mind.

The two men were in an abandoned temple on the outskirts of town. Socor had bound Tai to a massive chair that had been left on the platform above the altar. Debris littered the platform and the sanctuary from where part of the roof had once collapsed, and birds nestled in the rafters. Overall, it was a dreary place, and that provided quite a contrast to the animated wizard who held him captive.

Socor was pacing up and down the extended altar in front of Tai. "Let us hope for your sake that your new friends come for you," the wizard was saying. "Although, I must say, I wouldn't. But I think they will. Not because they really care, perhaps, but maybe for the money—I have quite a bounty on my head now—" Socor smiled briefly and continued babbling. "Or maybe just for the challenge or for revenge. I nearly killed that damn drow—did I tell you that already?—a month ago, and I'm sure he didn't appreciate that, but I will be sure to finish the job now." The wizard paused to breathe. "Although really it doesn't make any difference because you'll never leave here alive whether they come for you or not." He grinned.

Tai glared at him, although he wasn't angry about his own fate. He trusted his life to Hoar and Hoar's judgment. Regardless of what others thought, Tai knew that Hoar was with him and cared for him. Instead, the young cleric was concerned over the fate of his newfound friends—and he did indeed consider them friends, regardless of what they thought of him. Tai found Jarlaxle to be a bit odd, if amusing, but he felt very strongly about Entreri. He wanted to help him, to convert him, to ease some of his anger and pain.

Socor was watching Tai's face. "Do not glare at me so, dear priest. I cannot help it if you have poor taste in friends. It is only that—" The wizard stopped and seemed to fall into thought for several moments. "Do you understand what it is to aspire to be the best? Do you understand what it is like to be defeated—especially by those who do not deserve to defeat you?" He grimaced and continued pacing. "I have a heritage to live up to, dear priest, and a destiny to fulfill. And I do not have time to play an endless game of cat and mouse with two lackluster bounty hunters. They may have defeated me before, but it was a fluke. This time they will die by my hand."

Tai sighed and tried to ignore the growing dryness in his mouth and pain in his wrists and ankles. This wizard was a petty, obsessed man. The cleric realized that his friends had to fight the man and defeat him; otherwise, he'd likely continue to hunt them down and force the issue.

"Still, I cannot have you get in the way of my revenge," Socor was saying as he continued to pace.

_No,_ Tai thought, _vengeance will be Hoar's._

"And so I fear I will have to render you . . . ineffective for the time being," the wizard finished, turning to look at Tai with a vicious leer.

Tai stiffened and prayed that he'd live to see Entreri and Jarlaxle arrive.

* * *

"So where do we begin looking?" Entreri asked as he and the drow stepped into the town's dusty main street. 

Jarlaxle frowned. "Socor yelled something about their being in an appropriate place."

"He hinted where we were to go?" The assassin scowled. This had _trap_ written all over it. He considered the clue for a moment. "Appropriate . . . does that mean it's symbolic for him or for Tai? Or for both?" He shrugged. "A temple?"

Jarlaxle nodded and stopped the nearest man passing by. "Is there, by chance, an abandoned temple anywhere in or around this town?"

The tall, lanky man frowned at the dark elf. "Well . . . er . . . there's an old, rundown temple of Azuth on the far side of town. Why do ye wish to know?"

Jarlaxle and Entreri traded knowing looks. "That would be it," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle bowed to the man. "Thank you, good sir." Entreri nodded to him as well, and the two took off in a run. It took little effort to locate the old temple once they reached the outskirts of the town, for it rose above the surrounding hovels in graceful, if crumbling, arcs. The windows were broken out, the massive doors hung loosely on their hinges, and a large portion of the roof had caved in.

Entreri and Jarlaxle stopped before the abandoned temple and considered it. "I do not find this the least bit comforting," Entreri commented. "Better if we drew him out to a place of our choosing."

"I fear Tai does not have that much time," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri sighed. "Which is exactly why you don't allow yourself to become entwined with another."

Jarlaxle grinned at him. "So do we sneak up or take the direct approach?"

Entreri's second sigh was a profound one, indeed. "I'm sure the bastard knows we've arrived. The cautious direct approach."

Jarlaxle nodded, and the two walked straight up to the doors of the temple and took their places on either side. They looked to each other, and Jarlaxle nodded. With as much speed as they could muster, they kicked open the doors and dived inside. Jarlaxle dashed to the right, but Entreri, predicting that Socor would be prepared for this tactic, pitched himself into a forward roll, losing his hat in the process.

Socor awaited them on the debris-littered altar; an unconscious Tai was tied to a chair behind him. Just as Entreri had predicted, Socor attacked to the sides; unfortunately, the assassin's strategy didn't work. Bluish-white orbs shot from Socor's hands, and they easily tracked both Entreri and Jarlaxle. Jarlaxle's hatband absorbed the shock, as usual, and the assassin caught the missiles with his gauntlet and threw them back at the wizard, who easily defeated the attack with a magical shield. Entreri growled, drawing his dagger but keeping his gauntlet hand free.

"Allow me to show you the extent of my power!" Socor exclaimed from his perch.

"It's always a bad sign when they say that," Entreri sighed. Behind him, Jarlaxle laughed.

"So kind of you to accept the bait!" Socor continued, and even as he spoke, he performed small circles with his hands. He muttered some words in an arcane language, and just as Jarlaxle dropped the room into magical silence, finished his spell.

A vibration in the air was the only clue Entreri received before a swarm of bats filled the sanctuary. Cursing silently, the assassin sheathed his dagger and protected himself as best he could, but he could feel numerous bites on his hands and neck, and the pressure of teeth all across his magical shirt and leather pants. He pushed ahead toward the altar in hopes that the wizard would not move far from his original position, and with each step he felt the little bodies of the bats banging into him. As soon as the swarm started to thin, the assassin looked up and saw Socor on the side of the altar. He jumped up and rushed the wizard, drawing his weapons. Even as he slashed out, he realized something was amiss; a strike at his back told him that the wizard had used the swarm as a cover to cast some type of invisibility spell which afforded him an illusionary double. Trusting in his instincts, the assassin whirled around, bringing up his left arm in a block while slashing to the side with Charon's Claw. The sword connected solidly with the invisible wizard, but Entreri could tell no damage was dealt.

Stoneskin, the assassin concluded, and quickly slashed repeatedly at the same spot, moving forward as he did to account for a retreat. His insight paid off, and he landed four strikes before the wizard escaped him. Hoping to even the odds, Entreri tried to obscure the wizard's vision by filling the air with ash, but his sword didn't respond. Although confused, the assassin continued forward, and luck was with him: the invisibility spell wore off, revealing Socor to the assassin. Oddly, the magical silence lifted at the same moment, but the wizard grinned as it did, quickly making motions with his hands and aiming toward the assassin. Entreri charged forward, but the wizard spoke the words of his next spell and jumped off the altar.

The assassin was suddenly hit with a wave of despair so crushing that he faltered. He gripped the hilts of his weapons tightly and shook his head, trying to throw off the spell. Dimly, he became aware of the sounds of fighting below him and laboriously turned to the side to see Jarlaxle engaged in a battle with an eight-foot-tall gorilla-type creature. The grey-furred beast swiped at the drow with its massive double forearms and howled when it missed, baring its huge tusks.

_He's done it again,_ Entreri concluded, eyeing the creature as he struggled against the despair spell. _He summoned that beast just prior to our arrival and loosed it upon one of us so we couldn't attack him together._

Behind Jarlaxle, Socor took advantage of the situation and went through the motions of his legacy spell. A surge of adrenaline crashed through Entreri at the sight of his friend's danger, and he angrily threw off the spell. "Behind you!" he yelled at the elf even as he jumped off the altar and started for Socor.

"Socor-rame!" the wizard exclaimed as he completed the spell, sending a tornado of crimson spheres at the drow.

Several pieces of Jarlaxle's magical jewelry glowed red for a moment, but the mercenary didn't seem injured. Jarlaxle kept his concentration on his battle with the fiendish beast, staying outside of the creature's reach as he pumped it full of daggers. Socor cursed and pulled something from a pocket, instantly beginning a second spell. Entreri threw his jeweled dagger at him in an attempt to disrupt the casting, but Socor raised a hand and focused his concentration on a tiny dart. A brilliant emerald arrow shot forth from his hand toward Jarlaxle even as the assassin reached him.

Jarlaxle saw the approaching acidic arrow and did his best to avoid both it and the charge of the enraged and wounded beast, which swiped at him with massive claws. However, his dodge to the side did not save him, and the arrow grazed his right side, burning him profoundly. The drow swallowed the pain as best he could and forced himself to duck yet another swipe from the creature, but the entire right side of his body seemed to go numb with the pain. If only he could drop the room into magical silence again . . . but it was currently impossible for him to do so.

From the corner of his vision, the drow could see Entreri slashing at Socor, apparently attempting to defeat a stoneskin spell. Jarlaxle realized he needed to dispose of the hulking beast as quickly as possible so they could both focus upon the wizard, but the task was proving difficult. The mercenary snatched up his ferret-headed cane, which he'd dropped on a pew, and fired a series of poisoned darts into the creature's chest. Although he suspected that either the beast's furry hide was too thick to allow much penetration or that the poison wasn't strong enough to affect the massive creature, he took the chance, then leapt up on the pews and jumped from back to back in order to gain some distance.

The furious beast followed him, crashing through the pews with massive swings of its arms. Still, Jarlaxle gained enough distance to turn and aim one of his many wands at the creature, unleashing a powerful sticky web upon it and capturing it against the wall. The beast roared and pulled against the binding. The wall would give first, Jarlaxle knew, and so he aimed a hail of daggers at the captive creature's throat and eyes.

It was then that a storm of sleet suddenly rained down upon the room, obscuring the drow's vision. Jarlaxle hopped off of his perch on a pew but had to compensate when he landed because the floor was icy. Cursing, he backed away and to the side, wanting to ensure that he was not in the direct line of the beast's charge when it freed itself. The endless sheets of sleet stung the injured elf as he cautiously felt his way to the side of the room; the storm seemed more severe than it sound have been, and oddly, there was hail mixed in with the sleet.

Even more strangely, the driving sleet stopped abruptly, and when it did, it revealed two things to the dark elf, one of them very good and the other very bad: the beast was on the verge of death, and Entreri was injured. Jarlaxle could only guess what spell Socor had used, but Entreri was covered in burns. He was on his knees near the altar, trying to struggle to his feet, and Socor was laughing.

"See, assassin!" Socor said. "I was your better all along! While you're kneeling there you best pray for your damned soul."

"Artemis!" Jarlaxle yelled, grabbing for whichever wand he could reach the quickest. But before any of the three of them could act, a blast of flame erupted through the broken widow directly behind Socor, catching him in the back and throwing him into Entreri.

Jarlaxle didn't wait to see who was responsible, although there was only one logical answer. He whipped out a wand and aimed at Socor.

Nothing happened.

The mercenary experienced a moment's panic, thinking something was wrong with either him or his magical items. Then the truth of the situation became clear to him: they were in a wild magic zone. Not pausing, Jarlaxle continued his charge toward Socor. He stowed the wand and tried instead to rain daggers upon the man. Still nothing happened.

Although Socor's magical defenses had saved him from the flame strike, they were exhausted now. When the assassin stabbed the wizard in the side, he immediately felt the draining of his lifeforce along with the sting. Still, he didn't panic; instead, he pushed away from the injured assassin, jerking the blade free with a grunt as he did. Forcing himself to his feet, Socor whirled to face the window, and upon seeing Hector aiming at him again, unleashed a barge of magic missiles at the cleric. He hoped the blast would take care of the already wounded cleric.

By that point, Jarlaxle was upon him, but since the elf had been unable to engage any of his wands or his bracers, he slashed out at the wizard with the two hidden daggers he carried.

"New spell," Entreri called weakly from behind them, but Socor was one step ahead of them. He threw up one arm and accepted the injury, and he didn't even try to block the following one. He had purposely kept the motions of his new spell simple just in case he had to cast it while defending against Entreri.

With a few quick motions, Socor finished his newest spell and added the simple spoken component: "Legacy."

"Duck!" Entreri yelled, but the spell caught Jarlaxle right in the chest. There was no dodging it: a brilliant azure flash seemed to bloom out of Socor's upper body, and waves upon waves of blue energy erupted from the wizard and crashed into everything within three-hundred and sixty degrees. The drow could feel the burning sensation rush over his chest and face and run down his abdomen and across his limbs. He hit the ground near Entreri and groaned.

A screamed curse kept the elf's attention on Socor. "It was supposed to be more powerful than that," the wizard whined. "It should have killed you both on the first blast!"

Jarlaxle tried to sit up, desperate to both defend himself and finish the fight. But the bleeding wound in his side and the burns covering most of his body were draining him quickly. Beside him, Entreri was struggling to his feet. "I'll take care of it," he growled, finally standing and brandishing his weapons. Jarlaxle believed him, even trusted in him, but he would aid his companion as much as he could. Resolute in his intentions, the elf forced himself to sit up, although he knew he'd never gain his feet, and readied himself to try his magical bracers once again.

Entreri faced the wizard and promised himself that he'd defeat the man. Unlike Tai or Hector, he had no god to call upon, for he'd abandoned worshipping Tyr long ago when the god didn't answer his childhood prayers. Neither did he have any spells like the man he faced, for the only magic he could call upon was that of his weapons, which he now realized might or might not work in this place. But he did have a lifetime's worth of willpower and stubbornness, which he used to resist his wounds, and an unnamable need to defeat Socor—a need more powerful than usual.

Socor, grinning all the while, was already moving his hands in the intricate patterns of another spell-casting. Entreri would have to be quick, and he begged his injured body to comply. Then, from behind Socor, came the shout of a young man's voice: "_Retribution!_"

The word had a magical force behind it, an almost scratchy quality. Entreri felt the vaguest twitch in his muscles, but it passed quickly. Socor, on the other hand, seemed to freeze in place. _He's paralyzed,_ the assassin realized, and jumped forward, driving his sword straight through the wizard's heart. Charon's Claw did not ignite its magic to eat the man, but Entreri hardly cared. The assassin watched the life drain out of the wizard, then jerked his sword free and watched him fall to the floor.

"So much for your legacy," he told the corpse. "And no amount of prayer could ever save you."

Entreri glanced up at the altar to see a battered and burnt Tai smiling down at him.

"Well, we seem to have delivered retribution," the youth said, stiffly climbing down to stand by the assassin.

"As if there were ever any doubt," the assassin retorted, and Tai laughed. The assassin didn't join in, however, for movement in the corner of the sanctuary caught his eye. Near the edge of the shadows, behind Tai and Jarlaxle, stood a third figure who was approximately as tall as the assassin. Slender and dark-skinned, the man struck a fine figure in an ankle-length blue coat. A black hat shaded his eyes and cast shadows upon his narrow features, and he held a javelin in one hand. Unfortunately, the instant Entreri's gaze locked upon him, he disappeared. The assassin frowned, perplexed. Had he just seen the god of poetic justice?

"Hoar was with us," Tai was saying. "I felt his blessing, his divine power rushing through me."

Entreri looked back at the corner of the room, then to Socor's body, and then finally glanced at the youth again. For once, he refrained from comment; he couldn't shake the odd feeling that seeing the figure had caused him. There was just a sense of . . . lingering presence.

Tai was now looking back at the corner of the room and frowning as though he'd sensed something. After a moment, he shrugged and turned back to Entreri. "I apologize for taking so long to work myself free," the youth said, blushing. "I'm afraid Socor did an especially good job of binding me."

"I'll forgive you," the assassin responded dryly, "but only if you can heal Jarlaxle and me so I can live long enough to do so." With that, he turned to his drow friend and eased himself onto the floor beside him.

The two bitten, burnt, and wounded mercenaries grinned weakly at each other. "You think it was worth all of this?" Entreri asked.

"Well, all we have to do is cut off Socor's head and bring it along," Jarlaxle quipped. "We'll receive a fine reward."

"Greedy bastard," Entreri replied, smiling at his friend, and for once he was genuinely smiling, not smirking.

Jarlaxle grinned back. "What do you think? Was it worth it?"

Entreri's smile faded. He cocked his head to the side and gave the elf a sidelong glance. "No."

_Liar!_ Jarlaxle thought, grinning.

"Incorrigible," Tai sentenced them with a laugh. "You're both just horribly incorrigible!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Jarlaxle eased himself onto the pew and slapped Entreri on the knee. "Perhaps not our best work."

Entreri snorted. "We're still alive. Socor is not. I don't see the problem."

Jarlaxle grinned and settled next to his friend. The sunset filtered through the fragments of glass still hanging in the windows of the temple, creating tiny rainbows and patterns of light across the pews. Dust motes hung in the air, highlighted by the sun's rays, and birds chirped in the rafters. Aside from Socor's corpse, which lay at the base of the altar, no one would be able to tell a battle had taken place in the dilapidated sanctuary.

Jarlaxle sighed and willed himself to relax against the hard, wooden pew. Hector, Tai, and he had taken turns healing everyone—or trying to, at any rate. Ultimately they'd managed to patch up each other, and Jarlaxle had learned that the failed spells were the result of something outside of himself. Perhaps the general area had several wild magic zones, and if so, that would explain his failed levitation spell. At any rate, the drow resolved not to worry about it.

With the healings completed, the group had fallen into an exhausted silence. Tai, who was sitting on Entreri's other side, had fallen asleep on the assassin's shoulder. Entreri was managing to take this in stride and was actually staying still so the boy could rest. Hector, on the other hand, was standing before the trio, his arms crossed before his chest.

"You really should sit," the drow said after several long moments, for Hector was still weak and tired.

The cleric shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He eyed Tai. "I must say I'm astounded by your friend. Given his extreme youth, I had assumed him to be . . . not much more than a novice at receiving divine power. However, using a divinely empowered word to _paralyze_ Socor is an astonishing feat. I admit that not even I could do that."

Jarlaxle pursed his lips, intrigued. Entreri looked perplexed and briefly glanced at the boy leaning against his shoulder.

"I'm also astounded by your behavior," Hector continued. "Frankly, I assumed you'd allow the boy to die. Yet it is obvious to me that you both rushed to his rescue."

Entreri scowled, and Jarlaxle hid a grin. The elf expected the assassin to claim he hadn't come to rescue Tai, but he remained moodily silent.

"Still," Hector added, "your ability to care for one person does not indicate anything about your worldview, and so I find no compelling reason to stay the hand of justice."

Entreri sighed in exasperation. "Are you so sure you can accurately judge a man's heart?"

"A man's actions reveal his heart," Hector replied.

"And what have our actions said, priest, in the time we've known you?" the assassin retorted.

Hector paused and considered Entreri for several moments. "On one hand, Tyr demands justice," he said slowly, apparently dodging the question. "On the other, he is often saddened, not angry, over the inevitable truth that mortals cannot hope to attain a perfectly just society."

"Is that so?" the assassin asked skeptically.

Hector frowned. "Are you really going to accept payment for defeating Socor?"

Entreri traded looks with Jarlaxle. "No," the assassin replied with a smirk. "Killing him was payment enough. Why do you wish to know?"

Hector simply nodded and turned to leave.

"Mercy? From you?" Entreri asked, incredulous.

The priest turned back and smiled sadly. "If it were only up to me, no. But it is not, and your actions during the time I have been following you have been . . . acceptable." He paused. "Just remember that all priests are not as your father was, nor is Tyr what your childhood memory suggests. And I think perhaps Tyr wishes you would mend your ways enough to return to the fold."

Entreri glared at Hector.

"But also remember," Hector continued gravely, "that if I learn of any new wrongdoing on either of your parts, I will track you down and punish you both to the full extent of the law."

"And I'll be waiting to kill you," Entreri promised him.

Hector sneered, but he turned without comment and left.

As soon as Hector's footsteps faded, Tai opened his eyes and sat up straight, revealing he had merely been resting, not sleeping. "Better to join Hoar's fold than Tyr's," he said with a grin. The assassin snorted. "However," the cleric continued, "Master Macatos is correct on at least one count: the divine power I used was far past my ability. But the blessing of an interested god produces miracles." He patted Entreri's arm. "Please remember that."

"Enough," the assassin said. "I have had enough of both gods and men for one day."

"As you wish." Tai smiled. "It is only that I care."

Entreri gave him an odd look then, and Jarlaxle smiled. The assassin might seem exasperated, but in truth, Jarlaxle suspected that Entreri was finally beginning to find his way. Of course, Entreri's road to redemption would be a long one, but he'd made this important start, a decision involving others beyond himself. Pleased with that thought, the mercenary turned his grin upon Entreri. "I suppose we are now at last heroes," Jarlaxle teased him.

The assassin narrowed his eyes at the drow. "I'm no hero. I only did what was necessary."

Jarlaxle chuckled at the irony of Entreri's response. "Ah! Necessary, is it? Then you are well on your way to having heroism as your second nature."

Entreri punched Jarlaxle in the arm.

"No! Help, Tai!" Jarlaxle yelped in mock fright. "The nasty assassin is assaulting me! Use your holy word against him."

Entreri made a rude gesture at the drow in response, but Tai laughed. "I can't," the cleric explained, playing along. "If the word didn't paralyze Master Entreri along with Socor the first time, it certainly won't now!"

"Oh, no! I'm damned!" Jarlaxle threw a hand up to his forehead in an overdramatic gesture, pretending to be distressed.

But Entreri apparently had not let go of the "hero" comment yet. "I'm about as likely to be heroic as you are to be generous," the assassin said.

Jarlaxle blinked owlishly, pretending to be both innocent and dense. "I've kept you as a friend. Is that not generous?"

Entreri raised his fist a second time, and the drow laughed and quickly scooted away.

"What happened to my virtuous paladin, the brave knight who killed the vile wizard?" Jarlaxle asked from his spot halfway down the pew, unable to stop himself.

"Wicked drow!" Entreri exclaimed and jumped up, rushing the mercenary, who tried to run away. "The so-called paladin will rid the land of your foul presence!" He tackled Jarlaxle and toppled them both into the floor. They landed with grunts because of their lingering injuries, but Entreri didn't miss a beat. He wrapped his hands around Jarlaxle's neck and shook him, and the drow fought back by punching Entreri in the jaw.

Tai just sat back and laughed at the pair. "You two are _really_ incorrigible! Whatever are we going to do with you?"

A grin slowly worked its way onto the faces of both the drow and the assassin, but they kept up their mock battle all the same.

* * *

_A/N: Okay! We're done with_ The Road to Redemption. _My deepest thanks to any readers and reviewers. Special thanks to darkhelmetj for sharing with me so many conversations and insights on Entreri and Jarlaxle and for beta reading my story. It's been quite helpful and inspirational. Likewise, special thanks to Matt for beta reading, his helpful information and comments on the fight scenes, and his support. "The Face of a God" was finished on August 16, 2004. _


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